


Strings

by PhenixFleur



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil!Bill, Gaslighting, I'm Sorry, M/M, Major character death isn't depicted, Mind Games, Nightmares, Poor Dipper, Seriously this Bill is a sadistic asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3185141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill discovers Dipper mortally wounded out in the woods and decides to seize the opportunity to claim him as a puppet permanently. This doesn't turn out well for Dipper at all. (Alternate version of Sentiment.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dipper Has a Really Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> Intended as an alternative route to my other fic, Sentiment, with a single differing factor that leads to a much darker outcome. The story starts off the same but quickly branches off in the other direction. It's not a happy direction. This fic is not nice to Dipper at all. I'm sorry.
> 
> (I might not be sorry.)

_If you go out in the woods today,_  
 _You'd better not go alone._  
 _It's lovely out in the woods today,_  
 _But safer to stay at home._

Dipper had to admit, he'd made some pretty questionable choices in his life. 

To his credit, most of them were far removed from the usual mistakes other teenagers were known for. Whereas half of his class back in the nightmare hole affectionately called high school had, at some point, either smoked a joint on the roof or grimaced through a crappy beer at a party clouded with curiosity and hormones or gotten parts of their bodies pierced against their parents' wishes, his mistakes were rather unique.

The vast majority of them involved being attacked by various creatures while rummaging around in the woods, ingesting things found in said woods on the advice of a journal whose author also seemed prone to poor life choices, and making deals with shady individuals resulting in an irrational yet justified fear of puppets that lasted for a year and a half after his first summer in Gravity Falls. At least none of his misadventures had resulted in too much bodily or psychological harm.

The winged beast pursuing him through the woods shrieked in some unholy tongue, talons digging deep furrows into tree trunks and littering the ground with splinters in its wake.

Oh yeah. This was a mistake. 

Branches whipped at his face and arms, leaving series of deep red scratches lining his skin, but stopping was not an option. Whatever the hell that thing was was intent on  _killing_ him; this was no basically harmless experience he and Mabel could laugh about later. 

It occurred to Dipper that he might actually die this time. That sucked. Especially since his foray into the woods simply involved some interesting species of moss that may or may not have been sentient. 

Another branch ripped a gash in his cheek; his legs ached and breathing was becoming extremely difficult, but Dipper continued his madcap dash through the trees, weaving in and out in an attempt to shake the creature. It paid his efforts no mind, simply crashing through the foliage like a juggernaut. 

Then the inevitable happened - he found himself slamming face first into the dirt, halted in his tracks by a large, twisted tree root. 

He didn't even have a second to register the fact that he'd fallen before the creature was upon him, sinking its talons deep into his back. What started as a scream came out as a sharp gasp; that it was possible to feel so much excruciating pain all at once would have been surprising had Dipper possessed the presence of mind to acknowledge it. He couldn't breathe, his mind was one blank slate of horror, and the  _pain oh god make it stop help me help me I can't_

With the remaining amount of his consciousness he dimly noticed himself ascending, as if the creature was holding him aloft, tearing through the sparse canopy and bursting forth into the open air with another shriek that shattered the early evening calm that had settled over the woods.

His last thought before losing consciousness altogether was that Mabel was going to  _kill_  him. 

\--

He came to with a jolt instead of the gentle sensation of waking up, and immediately regretted it. The pain from before had not subsided in the least, radiating throughout his entire body. Breathing was sheer agony; with every breath he drew something in his chest  _ached_ , and he couldn't feel his arm. Discarded pine needles brushed against his cheek as he attempted to lift his head and failed miserably. 

Fingers clad in leather slid over the gash across his cheekbone, and for a moment his heart faltered at the sound of a familiar voice, characterized by an ethereal echo that made him cringe, even now. "Oh, Pine Tree. What have you done now?"


	2. Dipper's Bad Day Gets Considerably Worse

All things considered, Bill Cipher was having a pretty good day.

Well, as much as the unit of time could apply to a being that never really  _slept_. It was a mortal inconvenience, requiring at least a few hours of mental and physical vulnerability in order to remain functional.

He might have felt a fraction of pity if unprotected dreamscapes weren't so much fun to pollute with nightmares.

In terms of planetary day and night, at least, the past few hours had been pretty exhilarating. Nothing like starting the morning off with a good old homicide ( _assassination_  if one was being professional, but the term kinda took the edge off the joy of ripping a unfaithful man's heart out and bludgeoning his mistress to death with it), followed by a handful of various deals that the participants would certainly come to regret later. It was amazing how utterly stupid humans were, especially in their single-minded pursuit of vengeance.

With all of that in mind, he couldn't decide whether his discovery in the woods a couple of miles from the relative safety of the Mystery Shack was a cherry on top of the sundae or an additional sundae altogether.

The kid (despite being a couple of years older than their first encounter) was a mess. Lying facedown in a heap of pine needles, three deep gashes in his back staining his shirt crimson, breathing shallowly as if the action were painful. Against all odds he appeared to be regaining conciousness, attempting to move despite the fact that he was probably mortally wounded. That fighting spirit remained as alluring as ever, but the fear rolling off him in  _waves_  was even better. 

Bill wasn't sure whether he wanted to track down whatever had the gall to damage his property so thoroughly or thank it for the nice surprise. Among the few things that had changed over the years was his ability to take on human guise when needed. It wasn't perfect, not quite; human bodily functions were dreadfully irritating, but it served its purposes. He made a point of shifting without attracting the kid's attention, padding along through the pine needles silently. 

Pine Tree tried to lift his head once again, letting out a small whine of exertion upon failing to do so, revealing another slash across his left cheekbone. Unable to contain himself any longer, the dream demon reached over to run a finger over the wound, internally grinning as the kid flinched at his touch. From the brief contact he could tell that the teenager's lifeforce was dimming at a steady pace, confirming what he already knew; the culprit being a punctured lung and a fair amount of internal bleeding. The kid didn't have long, and while necromancy was technically a thing he could do, Bill shied away from it. Zombies were damn near impossible to perfect, at least to his standards. "Hello, Pine Tree. Long time no see."

Dipper stiffened, involuntarily cringing at the sound of his voice; he was, of course, unable to answer, but the slight hitching noise he made in response was all the confirmation the demon needed. "Did you miss me?" He tilted the teenager's head to the side, carefully, until those tearful eyes locked on his, pupils dilated with terror (and confusion). "I missed you." The usual foolhardy, snide response was sorely missed. 

"Maybe you should have stayed at home instead of poking around where you're not wanted, Pine Tree. Anything could happen to you out here, you know?" The demon grinned again, this time displaying a mouth of teeth that were  _definitely_  not human; even in his half-conscious state Dipper shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. "You could die, all alone, and Shooting Star would never know what happened. So tragic." Hands combing through messy brown hair, with a gentle touch completely at odds with the malicious expression on his face. "Or maybe I'll take you with me. How does that sound?"

The kid's eyes shot open once more; this time the look in his eyes was pleading. "Is that a yes?" Bill crooned, reveling as the waves of fear reached a crescendo. "Don't worry, kid. That's too easy. You know what they say about the thing with the journey and the destination and all that?"

On the verge of dying and scared out of his wits, and Dipper still managed to roll his eyes at that one. "Whatever. Everyone's a critic."

The teenager's lifeforce was dimming even further; it was time to get down to business. "So, kid. You wanna make a deal? I save your life, you pledge your undying allegiance to me?" 

This time Pine Tree's eyes narrowed in defiance, regardless of the pain he must have been in. It was a clear "No", which was impressive...if irritating. "It's a once in a lifetime offer, Pine Tree. Especially since you're dying. What do you say?"

No response. The eyes said it all, a combination of "No" and probably "Fuck you" all at once. 

It wasn't the reaction Bill was expecting, honestly. Most humans had little resolve, ready to beg for their lives when they hung in the balance, all morals and scruples three sheets to the wind. That Pine Tree was essentially accepting death and rejecting his deal was not only brave, it was incredibly rare, for someone his age. It made the insolent little brat even more desirable. 

The lack of gratitude, though...that would need to be addressed. Clearly Pine Tree did not remember who he was dealing with, and it was time to remind him. 

"Okay, Pine Tree. I gave you a choice." A loud cry of protest (and probably agony) rang out as the demon roughly flipped the teenager's body over, placing a hand illuminated by the blue flames surrounding it against his chest, directly over his heart. "I'll be your savior." Dipper's eyes glowed a similar shade, heart racing out of control and gasping for breath frantically as his body began to knit itself back together; cuts and gashes sealing themselves, bones sliding back into place with a dull crunch, bruises fading. "But not without a price. There are strings attached."

The teenager gasped, his face stricken with pain; thin threads of light flowed from the hand against his chest, slipping beneath the flesh and wrapping themselves around his heart and constricting. Oh, if only Pine Tree was lucid enough to stare up at him with those tearful liquid brown eyes. With his free hand Bill stroked his flushed cheek in a manner that might have been misconstrued for genuine affection. "It'll be fun to watch you resist. But in the end, you'll crawl your way back to me." 

The light faded alongside the rest of Dipper's injuries, leaving a perfectly healthy (albeit unconscious) teenager curled up on his side in the pine needles. Bill retrieved his signature cap from where it had fallen, brushing the dirt off before placing it on his puppet's head. 

"DIPPER!"

The voice that sounded from somewhere in the woods was undeniably Shooting Star's; of course she'd be out looking for her brother, even at cost to herself. It was a sweet gesture, how much they loved each other. It would be even sweeter tearing that bond apart. 

"Sleep well, Pine Tree," the demon whispered, brushing the hair hanging over his forehead away to get a look at his birthmark. "You'll see me soon enough."

-

When Mabel crashed through the bushes, stumbling into the clearing with her chest heaving and Waddles in tow, she found her twin unscathed, slumbering peacefully on the ground. "Dipper!"

Dipper stirred, stretching and letting out a huge yawn. "...Mabel?" 

"You idiot!" Mabel screeched, throwing herself at him and pulling him into a bear hug. "We were worried about you!"

"Huh?" Dipper sat up, taking stock of his surroundings. "Where...?"

"Were you just sleeping on the ground? What if ants got in your ears, Dipper? You could end up with an entire colony of ants in your head." Mabel wrung her hands, seemingly actually worried about the possibility.

"The ear canal does  _not_  work that way," Dipper said, flatly; Waddles leapt into his lap squealing with joy and pressing his wet snout against his chin. "I'm fine, I'm fine! Maybe I just got tired and sat down for awhile. It's pretty peaceful out here. When there aren't hill trolls and dinosaurs trying to kill you."

"I guess so." Mabel stood up, reaching for him and helping him to his feet. "Come on. Soos and Wendy are looking for you too." 

"Sorry for worrying you," Dipper said, sincerely, smiling; Mabel looked back at him and they shared an embarrassing twin moment before heading back into the woods in the direction of the Mystery Shack. 

Neither noticed the shadowy figure seated in a tree nearby, jagged teeth and a single golden eye gleaming in the darkness. 


	3. Dipper is Profoundly Irritated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little slow at the moment; build up to the rest of the story. Thanks for the kudos, and please let me know if anyone seems too out of character. Also the gelato place I used is actually a real place in the city I live in; they're really awesome! That dude working the counter is a random OC though. : )

_Squeak._

_Squeak._  

_Squeak._

The noise was irritating when it started fifteen minutes before. At this point Dipper was considering standing up and throwing the book he was reading at his sister. It was a hardcover, too. 

"Do you  _have_  to do that?" He groused, glancing over at Mabel bouncing up and down on her bed. Despite having gained a few pounds over the past couple of years she was still light enough to jump on the bed without damaging it, and she took advantage of it whenever she got bored and couldn't find something else to occupy her time with. 

Mabel's lengthy brown hair flowed behind her with every bounce, her eyes lit up with adolescent glee. "Do what?"  _Squeak squeak squeak._  

"THAT." Dipper slapped the book closed, tossing it to the side. "It's making it really hard to concentrate." 

Mabel flopped onto her back mid-bounce, sending her pillow and the craft supplies littering her bed flying all over the place. Her laughter rang out throughout their shared bedroom. It would have been adorable if it wasn't so damned  _annoying_. Dipper rolled his eyes, wishing his twin would act her age for once. 

Mabel sat up, swinging her legs over the side and beaming at her brother. "Come on, Dippin' Dot! Let's do something fun for once! Grenda and Candy and Soos wanted to go check out the new ice cream place at the mall, and I think Wendy wanted to come too." 

Dipper looked over at his bed, covered in paranormal studies material and the journal that he'd devoted so much time to since their first summer in Oregon. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his room to wander around the mall with Mabel and her giggling friends. 

Or maybe just Mabel herself. 

Little had changed over the few days since he'd been found sleeping in the woods. He felt fine, despite being reprimanded for worrying everyone by Mabel herself and assigned two extra shifts by their Grunkle in retaliation for forcing him to feel  _feelings._ It seemed that he really had just sat down for a break and drifted off in the soft bed of fallen pine needles. He did berate himself initially for doing something so careless and dangerous -- the woods were most definitely not a safe place to nap in, but in the end it had all turned out okay. 

Perhaps that lecture was the start of the one issue he  _was_ struggling with. 

"This  _is_  fun," he snapped. "And there's only a few weeks of summer left. It's been three years, Mabel, and I still don't have any idea who the original author is."

Mabel looked away, rubbing at her arm absently. "...so what?"

It took all of his self-control not to throw that closest book at her, and even then Dipper felt his fingers twitching. "So  _what?_ "

His twin looked up at him with a sheepish expression that was a bit out of character for her. "I know it's really important to you, and I'm not trying to get in the way of that. But we only have so many summers until everything changes. The journal can wait one day, right?"

The knot in Dipper's chest loosened at seeing his sister so downcast, and he felt a small twinge of guilt as he conceded. "Fine. Just for today, though."

"Yes!" Mabel leapt to her feet, cheering. "I'll go call everybody!" 

Dipper stared after her as she ran out of the room, chanting something about ice cream. The frustration he'd felt earlier had melted away the moment she departed. Ever since she'd gotten on his case about sleeping out in the woods his patience with Mabel had been significantly lacking, even more so. Now that they were entering the heart of their teenage years the twins were branching out a little on their own, Dipper retreating into his hobbies and Mabel assuming some of the traits of a typical teenage girl, although the sweaters and the quirkiness remained steady. Despite being occasionally irked by her effervescence they remained just as close as ever, even more so now that they both found themselves plagued by the trials of being in high school. Dipper often had to help his sister with her assignments, and Mabel dragged him out of himself when he isolated too much, completely unashamed to be seen with her geeky dork brother. 

However, this was very different. It was as if some kind of switch had flipped, amplifying all of her quirks and noise and her very persona itself to a volume that wore him down. Being around her was difficult, because Mabel hadn't actually  _done_  anything to warrant his irritation, but it needled at him all the same. At least it wasn't a constant state of resentment, but it certainly cropped up a lot more often than usual. 

Maybe he was just becoming a jerk. 

Dipper sighed, heading into the bathroom to ready himself for their outing. 

\--

"This is so fancy!" 

"It is like being in a Candy Land."

"Sweet."

The new ice cream place Mabel dragged them to turned out to be a rather upscale  _authentic_  gelato boutique. The walls of the shoppe (because this was  _shoppe_  instead of a regular  _shop_ ) were painted a cheery shade of yellow, covered with exotic decor ranging from ceramic masks to expensive looking wall-hangings -- a stylized sun, enormous spring flowers. The shelves and furniture were a rich brown, real wood instead of the plastic or metal seating that dominated the rest of the mall, and the air smelt absolutely heavenly. 

To top it off, the young man standing behind the counter could have been an Italian model; dark brown, slightly curly hair and clear green eyes that shone with enthusiasm. He greeted the newcomers with his audible accent, and Dipper rolled his eyes as Mabel, Grenda, and Candy swooned at the sound of his voice. Soos swooned as well, hands pressed against the glass eying the colorful display of gelato flavors within; multicolored cones lined the top of the display, some of which were dipped in white and milk chocolate.

"Welcome to Paolo's Gelato Italiano!" The young man said brightly. His nametag read 'Alonzo'; Dipper couldn't fathom why such a place had chosen to open for business in Gravity Falls of all places, where a place featuring a mechanical badger was all the rage. "What may I help you with today?"

Mabel leaned against the counter, twisting a lock of hair around her finger and batting her eyes flirtatiously. "How do you say it? Gelato?"

"Yes, that is perfect!" Alonzo grinned. "Most people here pronounce it with a hard 'g' instead of soft."

"Well...Italian  _is_  one of the romance languages," Mabel crooned, and Dipper buried his face in his hands and wandered off to lean against an equally brightly colored stool in the corner. 

"On the prowl again, I see." Wendy approached from behind, leaning against the wall beside him, folding her arms over her chest and looking at him knowingly. 

"As always." Dipper heaved yet another heavy sigh, gazing at the rest of the shoppe (because now he was convinced more than ever that it was a  _shoppe_  instead of a  _shop,_ and also that the owners had severely overestimated their audience). The irritation was back, nudging at his skull with an insistence that made his sister's usual attempts at flirtation even more annoying than usual. Why couldn't she just talk to guys her age like a normal person? 

"You alright?" Wendy's voice broke through his musing, and Dipper looked up at her (she was still taller than he was) noting the expression of concern on her face. "You're kinda touchy today." 

Dipper shrugged, glancing over at Mabel briefly. "It's not you. I don't know."

Wendy followed his line of sight; Mabel was now accepting a sample of gelato with a coy smile; she'd definitely improved since her days of popping up behind people and slightly creepy pick up lines. "Oh...I get it."

"What?" 

Wendy's face relaxed into her usual chill half-smirk, closing her eyes. "Don't worry, it happens to everybody that isn't an only child. I love my brothers, but sometimes I want to push the in the lake."

"There's a monster in that lake," Dipper pointed out. 

"I know." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah." Wendy chuckled before continuing. "Siblings can be super annoying, even ones you get along with really well. But it doesn't mean you hate each other or anything. My brothers get on my nerves but if anyone actually did anything to any of them..." She left the threat hanging in the air; Dipper felt a bit of chill, suddenly reminded that despite her appearance Wendy packed a mean punch. 

"She's...sometimes she's  _really_  annoying." Dipper gazed up at the ceiling, a deep blue with golden stars painted on at regular intervals. "It's like hanging out with a five year old."

"She is pretty in touch with her inner child," Wendy admitted. "It's kinda cute."

"We have very different definitions of cute," Dipper groused. 

Wendy reached over and flicked his cap off of his head, ruffling his hair with a light noogie. "Lighten up. Don't be too hard on her. Soon enough you'll be 18 and she'll be off doing her own thing and you'll be doing yours. Try to enjoy the time you've got left before everything changes." 

Dipper retrieved his cap, looking over at his sister and her friends a little more fondly as he placed it back on his head. "She said that too." 

"Maybe she's wiser than we give her credit for," Wendy said with a wink. "So you want to go over there and see how many free samples we can get before the dude gets mad and kicks us out?"

Dipper grinned. "You know, you're kind of a bad influence." 

Wendy tossed her hair over her shoulder proudly. "I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

- 

Later that night Dipper lay in bed poring over his journal, not truly registering the words. Mabel was humming to herself softly from her side of the room, knitting a new sweater with Waddles curled up beside her. She was a lot calmer than earlier, and after his talk with Wendy he felt a little better about having been short-tempered with his sister but the guilt remained in the pit of his stomach. "Mabel?"

"Hm?" Mabel had a third knitting needle clenched between her teeth for the arms of the sweater. 

"I'm sorry I've been weird lately." 

"Bleh." Mabel dropped the third needle in her lap, turning to face him. She was surrounded by yarn and her hair was messy and she glowed like a ray of sunshine and Dipper remember that she was essentially his reflection. How could he have forgotten? "You're always weird."

"You know what I mean," Dipper retorted. "I've been sort of a jerk to you."

Mabel shrugged. "It's okay." She slipped out of bed, shaking the strands of yarn off and crossing the room and flopping backwards onto his. "Even if you're the grumpiest grump ever you'll always be my little brother."

"Five minutes." Dipper dumped the journal on her head, sitting up straight and glaring at her. "FIVE MINUTES."

"Doesn't matter!" Mabel crowed, seizing his pillow and swatting him with it. "I'm still older than you."

"FIVE MINUTES." The pillow fight devolved into laughter and warmth, as usual...but Dipper couldn't shake the feeling that it was taking a lot more effort to enjoy it than it normally would. 

-

Dipper woke up with a headache. 

The sun was already up, streaming through the window and bathing him with light that made his headache even worse. He pulled his pillow over his head, turning to face the wall. He couldn't remember if he'd dreamed or not. 

"Hey, Dipster!" Mabel's voice rang out, booming in his ears like a heavy bass drum, making him wince. "You want to hit Greasy's for some pancakes? The last time Grunkle Stan tried to make breakfast he set a cast iron skillet on fire."

_Shut up. Shut up. Go away._  The words danced on the tip of Dipper's tongue, but he bit them back before he could say something he'd regret later. The irritation was back in full force, nagging him and digging into his skull. He wanted her to shut up. He wanted her to get away from him. He had a headache. She was the headache. 

Through gritted teeth, he responded, with wonderful restraint, "That's okay. I'm not really hungry."

"Oh." Mabel sounded crestfallen; the twinge of guilt flared up only to be crowded out by his desire for silence. "I'll bring some back for you to eat later, okay?"

Dipper waited until her footsteps receded before pulling the pillow away from his face. His headache was rapidly retreating, and he felt palpable relief in her absence. 

The guilt tried to reassert itself, only to be pushed back again and again, the internal war raging on for the rest of the morning while he lay in bed miserably staring up at the ceiling. 


	4. Dipper Does Something He Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter than usual. Also potentially not great, but I'm writing while bogged down with the flu. My apologies.

_She's ruined it._

_He can't find the words, dropping to his knees in front of the wreckage of three years of effort and strife, now a waterlogged pile of papers blurred with running ink. The six-fingered hand emblazoned on the cover is wrinkled, the number printed on it washed away._

_And all she can say is "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."_

_He looks up at his sister, voice strained with poorly concealed rage. "What did you **do**?" _

_"I'm sorry," she stammers, wringing her hands anxiously. "I was at the lake...and...I'm sorry, I didn't..."_

_"You **always**  ruin everything!" He snarls, interrupting her explanation. "Do you even know how long I spent working on that?" _

_Mabel's eyes are shining with tears that have yet to spill over, her face fixed in a mask of utter distress. "I'm sorry, Dipper! It was an accident!"_

_'You're the accident,' he thinks, darkly, but he bites his tongue, reaching out to prod at the remains of his journal with a sigh. Mabel crouches before him, ignoring the vengeful glare he levels her with. "Maybe we can fix it or something-"_

_He lashes out with a speed that surprises even him, slapping her hand away. "How am I supposed to fix this?" Mabel falls back, clutching her hand and shivering, obviously stunned by the intensity of his anger. "You_   ** _fuck up_**   _everything you touch."_

_"I...I..." His sister's voice hitches in her throat, the tears finally overflowing and sliding down her cheeks to stain the collar of her stupid, tacky sweater. It occurs to him that he can't stand the sight of her, sobbing; everything that's gone wrong is her fault, every misstep is due to her standing in his way. If anything's an accident, she is._

_Dipper stands up, staring down at his sister, his voice a hard knell of hostility; her eyes widen with actual fear. "Sometimes I wish I really was an only child."_

_Mabel curls into herself, shuddering and weeping piteously. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't hate me-"_

_-_  

Dipper shot up straight in bed, breathing heavily. The sheets wrapped around his legs were soaked with perspiration, and the back of his throat burned with bile. The urge to lean over the side of the bed and vomit forced him to clutch at his stomach, pulling his knees up beneath his chin. 

The memory of his sister crying continued to echo through his head.  _Don't hate me._

After a few minutes of forcing himself to breathe normally, inhaling and exhaling at a steady rate, he turned to look over at Mabel. Surprisingly his shout of alarm had failed to wake her up; her hair spread across her pillow as she snored softly, Waddles curled up at her side. That was a relief, at least...but the dream lingered, and every second he spent looking at his twin the guilt weighing him down grew. It wasn't as if they hadn't had their share of arguments and tears shed on either side, but he'd never spoken to her so harshly, or said anything so blatantly cruel. 

He'd never seen her cry  _that_  hard, even after one of her various breakups -- and there were a lot of failed romances in Mabel's register (granted, over half of them involved paranormal creatures and deranged frauds with Napoleon complexes).

Dipper looked down at his own hands clutching at his blanket. They were trembling. 

Slipping out of bed onto the hardwood floor, he made his way over to Mabel's side of the room. Waddles stirred, opening his eyes and wrinkling his nose with delight as usual, but Mabel remained unaware of his presence. Dipper reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. Mabel groaned, swatting at his hand sleepily. "I said I didn't want any. It tastes like laundry detergent."

Dipper paused for a brief moment before deciding that he really didn't want to know. "Hey."

His sister's eyes crept open, mostly unfocused. "Dipper?"

"Yeah, it's me." Shrugging off the very concept of awkwardness, he pulled her into a tight hug; she accepted it readily, even in her half-conscious state. "I'm sorry. You know you're my favorite sister, right?"

"I'm your only sister," Mabel mumbled. 

"I know." 

She stretched and passed out like a light once more; Dipper scratched Waddles behind the ear absently before returning to his bed, but every time he closed his eyes he saw the final image from his nightmare, heard the phantom sobs of his other half echoing in his ears. After an hour of staring at the wall he gave up on the idea of going back to sleep, climbing out onto the ledge and watching the moon until it faded from his view.

-

Dipper stared into his bowl of cereal as if the secrets of the universe could be found within. In reality he was trying his damnedest not to pass out into his off brand Lucky Charms. Ordinarily he would have welcomed the infusion of pure sugar but this morning the very thought of eating soured his already anxiety-ridden stomach. It didn't help that Mabel didn't seem to remember being awakened the night before, buzzing around the kitchen with more energy and enthusiasm than anyone should have at 9AM. 

She plopped down on the stool across from him cheerfully, reaching out to poke him in the nose with a "Boop!" 

Dipper looked up at her with his reddened eyes accentuated with dark semi-circles beneath them. Mabel winced. "Whoa, bro. You look pretty bad. Did you get  _any_  sleep last night?"

"I...uh.." He fumbled for an explanation, not sure how to respond. He had a feeling that telling her about his nightmare wouldn't go over very well. 

Mabel clucked her tongue. "Did you spend all night reading your journal again?" 

"No." It wasn't a lie. After failing at going back to sleep he'd toyed with the idea of doing some research but concentrating was nearly impossible. 

Mabel eyed him suspiciously; they'd had this very conversation so many times before that it proceeded like clockwork. "Are you lying?"

"No." Dipper tried to return her glare but failed at that too. Being irritated took effort. 

"Uh-huh." Mabel leaned across the table, invading his personal space without a hint of shame. "Are you not lying about not lying?"

The twisted maze of double negatives was too much for Dipper to comprehend in his advanced state of exhaustion. He pondered the question for a moment before saying, hesitantly, "...no?"

It was the wrong answer. Mabel settled back into her seat, pounding her fist on the table. "I knew it! You know what happens when you're sleep deprived, Dippin' Dot. You get all crazy and stuff." She whirled her index finger beside her head and crossed her eyes for emphasis. 

Something was bubbling up in his chest; it stung briefly like heartburn but continued working its way upward while she chided him for not getting enough rest. It settled in the back of his skull, easing into a dull throb; at that point it dawned on Dipper that he was  _damned tired_  of the sound of her voice. 

"Geez, Mabel!" He sat up straight, hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly that he could feel the wood beginning to splinter in his grasp. "It was just one night!" He was shouting, now, but the words poured forth as they had in the dream from the night before. "I found a possible lead and I got caught up!  **Lay off**." 

As the pressure in his head receded almost as quickly as it had risen, Dipper realized that Mabel had an expression he wasn't used to seeing on her face, at least around him. She looked apprehensive, her hands toying with a lock of hair nervously. She stared down at the floor, refusing to meet his gaze. "...I'm just worried about you," she said softly. "You're kinda my favorite brother."

All of the ire vanished; Dipper sat back down, feeling like the biggest jerk in existence. "...I'm your only brother." 

Mabel looked up at him, her smile returning gradually. "I know." 

They shared what they'd come to call an 'Awkward Twin Moment', a brief bit of nonverbal communication that only two people who knew each other better than anyone else could pull off. 

'I'm sorry.'

'It's okay.'

The tension in the air tapered off as they finished their breakfast, Dipper picking away at his cereal and Mabel picking out all the marshmallows before gulping down the sugary milk left behind. "Good old' high fructose corn syrup," she sighed happily. Dipper couldn't help but smile himself. 

"You know this stuff is probably shortening our lives by ten years." 

"But it's totally worth it." Mabel stood up, carrying her empty bowl over to the sink. "Oh yeah. I can cover your shifts at the Shack today if you want to go sleep a bit more." 

Dipper doubted he'd be able to fall asleep, even as tired as he was, but he appreciated the gesture. "Thanks."

"It's all good! Although..." Mabel grinned at him, mischievously. "You owe me one."

Dipper groaned. He should have seen that coming. "Actual body parts or dignity?"

"There's a BackAlley Boys concert in a couple of weeks..."

"Right. Dignity it is."

-

Dipper had slogged through some pretty bad weeks, especially with the beginning of the hell known as high school, but the following week was one of the worst. 

While he did manage to get a few tidbits of sleep here and there, the nightmares continued. They all followed the same format; he'd find himself standing over his sister following some mistake on her part, no matter how minor, and raining abuse down in a manner that made it impossible to look at Mabel at times. They always ended with her huddled on the ground crying in the most heartbreaking fashion, begging him not to hate her, and Dipper always woke up stricken with guilt and usually hyperventilating. After the first night he dropped the pretense, carrying his journal or whatever he was reading out onto the ledge with his flashlight on the nights the clouds obscured the moon and reading by its light when the skies were clear. 

If the nights were terrible, the days were even worse. 

The random flares of irritation also continued, and they were without warning. There was usually a catalyst of some sort -- Mabel talking too loudly or joking about some touchy subject or engaging in her characteristic quirks, but nothing that equaled the amount of resentment that took hold of him at those moments. It became harder and harder to bite his tongue before saying something awful, so he began to avoid her when he could, employing any lie he could. The incidents were inexplicably tied to Mabel herself; he managed to interact with Soos, Wendy, Stan and even Wendy's friends with little effort aside from being tired, but he wrote it off as insomnia whenever someone asked. If anyone noticed that he and Mabel appeared to be having issues, they either assumed they'd make up on their own or didn't say anything, although Dipper did catch Wendy and Soos glancing in his direction more often. The fact that whatever was happening was limited to his sister alone made him temporarily write off any paranormal interference as the culprit, instead poring over whatever psychology books he could find. Even if he was to flip through the pages of the journal for a possible explanation, where would he even start? The lack of any kind of lead was infuriating, almost as much as the thought that there might not be any outside cause at all. Maybe they were just growing apart, with himself at the helm. 

He wasn't sure how Mabel felt about any of it. He made sure to either creep into bed after she was fast asleep or pretend to be out cold when she showed up to turn in for the night. To his knowledge she spent the next few days with Candy and Grenda, doing whatever girls their age did. 

And yet the dreams persisted, even with their decreased contact.

-

_They're sitting in front of the TV, a ball of yarn in her lap and a random book in his. Whatever nonsense is on the screen has her full attention, her grating laugh ringing out every few minutes, and the headache centered at the back of his skull is steadily growing stronger, the agitation causing the book in his hands to tremble until the words are a blur._

_She turns to look at him, her face lit up with its usual bright smile; instead of endearing the urge to push her away from him is damn near impossible to shrug off._

_"Hey." She does that annoying thing where she pokes him in the nose, followed by a "boop"; it's the kind of behavior meant for a pet or a baby, and he grits his teeth in response. "You're my favorite brother, Dipper."_

_The voice that responds is not his; perhaps it is, but there's a layer of ice lining it that he isn't even sure he's capable of. "I wish I could say the same."_

_Mabel draws back, confused. "Huh?"_

_He can't ignore the urge any longer; his sister gasps as he leaps to his feet and shoves her to the side, the ball of yarn bouncing off into oblivion. "Don't you get it?"_

_She stares up at him, horrified; pressing her back against the couch and pulling her hair over her ears, but he can tell she hears him loud and clear. "You're a nuisance. You have the most annoying voice I've ever heard. I'm sick of your stupid sweaters and your stupid everything."_

_The tears are already dripping down her face as he delivers the final blow, and oh god he's smiling he can feel it and the surge of joy in his chest is nauseating but he can't stop himself, not now. "I'm sick of you."_

_-_

It was a miracle that Dipper managed to make it to the bathroom and lock the door before falling to his knees, leaning over the toilet bowl and retching, clutching the seat while unloading the contents of his stomach. When there was nothing left he remained where he was, shifting to sit with his back against the cool ceramic. He wasn't just physically tired; the emotional weight of the past few days were beginning to wear on him as well.

"What's happening to me?" he whispered, dismally; the silence that followed provided no answer.

- 

"Dude, I don't want to tell you how to live your life, but that's not cereal." 

Dipper took a good look at what he was pouring into the bowl of milk. Today he was eating alone; Mabel and Stan were off getting actual breakfast at Greasy's. He'd declined, not wanting to be around his sister for a moment after the nightmare from the night before. Instead of cereal he now had a bowl of raw oats submerged in milk; in a sense it  _was_  cereal, but a few steps removed from being edible. 

He pushed the bowl across the table, falling forward onto the table with a deep sigh. "I can't do this."

Soos finished rummaging around in the fridge, carrying an armful of what might have been the makings of a very odd sandwich over and dumping the load on the table in front of him. Dipper lifted his head slightly, taking in the loaf of bread, peanut butter, avocados, and other assorted ingredients. He decided against questioning it. Mabel's odd concoctions had worn off on their friend over the past couple of summers and she and Soos were responsible for more than one Eldritch abomination crafted in the kitchen. For once Dipper and his grand-uncle were on the same wavelength, avoiding their creations like the plague. 

"Oh man." Soos let out a low whistle. "You look like you haven't slept in forever." 

The statement was perfect for a snarky comeback but that required more mental exertion than Dipper was willing to deal with. "Yeah." 

Soos pulled out a slice of bread, slathering a large glob of peanut butter on it and setting it on the table in front of the distraught teenager. Dipper accepted it gratefully, taking a bite out of the makeshift peanut butter toast. It didn't go down easily, but at least it was something. "Thanks."

"You wanna talk about it?" Soos had come to serve as much of a source of support as Wendy, although their friendship was a little different, peppered with terrible action movies, video games andheart attack-inducing junk food. Although Dipper really didn't want to bring it up, Soos was a pretty good potential confidant. 

"This conversation never took place," he warned. 

Soos made a zipping gesture across his lips. 

"I keep having these nightmares. About Mabel. I'm just...I keep saying really crappy things and making her cry in them. And I'm so frustrated with her lately. I mean sometimes she's annoying but it's sister annoying, not actual annoying." Dipper rested his head on his arms glumly.

"Did you guys have a fight or something?" Soos carved into an avocado, frowning at the brownish mush within. "Yeah, that's bad."

"Not really." Dipper grabbed the rotten avocado and launched it over his friend's head, feeling a twinge of triumph as it landed squarely in the trashcan. "I think it's just me. She doesn't seem to be any different."

"Huh. Did you talk to her yet?" 

Dipper shrugged. "No. What am I supposed to say? I'm starting to hate you for no good reason?"

"That does sound like a bad idea," Soos admitted, starting in on the remaining avocado. "But holding it in doesn't get anybody anywhere. I still haven't told my cousin Reggie that I accidentally started that fire at his wedding reception." He paused. "Yep. Probably taking that one to the grave."

Dipper raised an eyebrow. "You know I'm asking about that one later. I guess you're right. I still feel really bad over all of this, though." 

"She won't hold it against you. You guys are like peanut butter and jelly." He shook his head, handing the other unfortunately rotten avocado to Dipper. "You got this?"

"I got this. And Grunkle Stan has really got to start cleaning out the fridge more."

-

Dipper took a deep breath, lingering in the hallway outside their shared room. He could hear Mabel humming to herself inside. His stomach clenched; after barely talking to his sister for the past week he wasn't even sure she'd want to speak to him. Even reminding himself that Mabel wasn't one to hold a grudge didn't help. Another deep breath. 

Upon entering the room he felt a surge of warmth at the familiar sight -- Mabel sitting in a sea of crafting supplies, digging around for something. "I know it was in here somewhere..." She muttered to herself, lost in thought. 

"Hey Mabel." She looked up, a brief flash of something unreadable on her face that quickly melted into her trademark sunny expression. "Are you busy?"

"I'm always busy," Mabel said proudly, holding the start of some knitting project aloft for him to see. "So much to do, so little time!" She pushed her supplies to the side, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I always have time for you though! What's up, bro-bro?"

Dipper hesitated. "Yeah...I..."

"Oh wow." Mabel rose and darted over to where he stood. "Have you seen yourself recently? You totally look like a zombie. A real one, not a bunch of gnomes pretending to be one."

Dipper chuckled at the memory. "I think they were going for a regular guy and failing really hard at it. That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about though."

"Zombies? Or gnomes?"

"Neither." Dipper took another deep breath, willing his heart to stop trying to break through his ribcage. "It's about the not sleeping thing."

"Oh!" Mabel bit her lip, looking away. "I thought that's what you were mad at me about. Have I started talking in my sleep? I'm sorry if I'm keeping you awake."

"I'm not mad at you," Dipper kicked himself mentally -- of course that was the conclusion she'd draw. He really was becoming an awful excuse for a brother. "And  _I'm_  sorry I've been so weird around you. It's just..."

Mabel stared at him expectantly, brightening a little at his words.

"It's...just..." Dipper trailed off, staring past his sister at nothing. The pain in his chest had returned, as if something were constricting around his heart. He could feel it radiating throughout his body, winding around his spinal cord, sliding its way into his head. This time it was a palpable difference, a conscious shift that was now unmistakable as the sensation that preceded his bouts of irritation. ' _No, not now._ '

Mabel took a step closer, brow furrowed with concern. "Dipper, are you okay? You look really sick."

The pressure in his skull was building; ordinarily the pain in his chest would have tapered off by now but it remained as sharp as when it first flared up. He wanted to run away, to hide in the bathroom until the assault on his mind ceased, but his feet refused to obey him. There were words on the tip of his tongue,  _bad_  words, and holding them back was a struggle. Perhaps he'd been wrong to write this off as not having a paranormal origin, although it hadn't ever been this potent. 

"Dipper?"

"I...am...sick." The words forced their way through his lips, spoken in a halting manner. "Of you."

Mabel took a step back, looking confused. "Huh?"

"You." Dipper met her gaze; his complexion had paled but his eyes were clear...and cold. "I'm sick of you."

Mabel's bewilderment shifted into a crestfallen expression. "Little bro?"

"Stop calling me that!" Dipper snapped. Mabel took another step back before deciding not to take the undeserved mistreatment lying down. 

"I'm not trying to be mean! It's just a joke," she retorted. "It never bothered you before."

"That's all you ever do," Dipper sneered. "Everything is a joke to you."

Mabel's cheeks flushed with anger. "That's not true! I just like cheering people up."

"You mean  _annoying_  them." Somewhere removed from himself, Dipper cringed. These weren't his words, despite being spoken in his voice. "All you do is pester people and they're too nice to tell you you're  _not wanted._ You're so useless."

Mabel's eyes gleamed; she clearly couldn't decide whether to cry or yell at him. "Why are you being such a jerk?" 

From the deep place his true consciousness had been pushed into, Dipper realized what was coming, horrified. ' _No._ '

"Because I..." 

' _NO!_ ' He fought for control of his body, of his voice, against whatever had hijacked him and was forcing him to say things he couldn't take back. ' _No no no no! Stop! Please!_ '

"Because I...hate you." The moment the words passed his lips the pressure in his skull dissipated, his body now his own again, but the damage was done. The tears threatening to spill over were flowing freely, his twin's face fixed in a dejected expression that he was responsible for. 

For years, they'd bickered and argued and even actually come to mild blows on occasion, because that's what siblings did. But neither of them had ever actually said those words, no matter how bitter Dipper felt from time to time. He couldn't hate his own reflection.

"It's okay." Mabel sniffled, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "You're just super sleep deprived and grumpy." Dipper watched with a sinking heart as she gathered up her current knitting project and turned away from him; her shoulders were shaking and he could tell she was still crying although she kept her voice steady. "I'll sleep downstairs for awhile so I don't accidentally wake you up, okay?"

Dipper didn't say anything. He didn't trust himself to. 

Mabel glanced up at him. Her attempts at a smile were painful to look at. "Even though you're a jerk, you're still my favorite brother."

Dipper turned on his heel and ran, racing down the stairs and out the front door past Soos and his grand-uncle and hightailing it into the woods.

- 

He wasn't sure where he was going; his legs ached but he kept running, as if trying to outrun himself. He focused on his heartbeat, pounding in his chest out of control; it kept his mind from wandering, because it couldn't be trusted. He couldn't be trusted. 

' _I hate you._ '

"I'm sorry!" He shouted, with no one but the trees and whatever was lurking in the woods for an audience. "I'm sorry."

His legs finally failed him, dumping him in a pile of pine needles in a small clearing that would have seemed oddly familiar had he cared about his surroundings. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me."

' _She's a nuisance. You hate her._ '

"No, I don't!" He protested, curling up into himself and starting to cry himself. 

' _You wish she'd just disappear and leave you alone. You wish you were an only child. You wish you didn't have a sister._ '

Dipper cried harder. He was glad he was alone, although his treacherous mind made for poor company.

' _You want her out of your life. You want to push her off the ledge. You want to poke her eyes out with her knitting needles_.'

...now that was weird. Dipper sat up, brushing away the pine needle stuck to his cheeks. "What the hell?"

' _I guess that one was a bit obvious. Still, sounds like fun, right_?'

If he needed any more proof that there was something interfering with him, the color melting away from the world around him was confirmation. He tried to stand up to run, but his legs remained unresponsive as before, keeping him trapped where he sat on the ground. "Oh, no." 

"Oh yes." The ethereal echo rang out throughout the clearing, as if its owner was omnipresent. Dipper shuddered. 

The figure that stepped out from behind a tree leered at him with teeth that didn't belong in a human mouth, the single golden eye not hidden behind an eye patch shining. 

Dipper sighed. This was shaping up to be a legendarily bad summer.

"Hello, Pine Tree."


	5. Dipper and the Dream Demon

As time slowed to a crawl in the clearing around him, washed in monotone, Dipper began to seriously regret running into the woods instead of finding a much safer place to have an emotional breakdown. His treacherous limbs continued to ignore his frantic commands, and he found himself looking up into the toothy leer of someone he couldn't mistake no matter what form they took. "Bill," he growled through clenched teeth. 

"In the flesh, Pine Tree! Literally." The man standing in front of him winked with his (likely only) eye, reaching up to adjust the top hat precariously perched upon a full head of wavy blonde hair. From a purely hormonal standpoint, a small part of Dipper acknowledged that if he wasn't a sadistic, homicidal maniac that had tried to kill him the first time they met, he'd actually make a pretty attractive human being.

It was a very, very small part.

"Need a hand, kid?" The demon extended a gloved hand in a gesture of mock politeness; Dipper ignored it, averting his gaze. 

"It was you," he muttered, clenching his fists in the dirt beneath him. 

"Well of course!" Bill said cheerfully, seizing the sullen teenager's hand and pulling him to his feet anyway. "Who else would it be? I've gotta say I'm impressed, Pine Tree. You put a good fight. You've got balls!"

Dipper wrenched out of his grip, stumbling backwards until his back hit an invisible wall. His heart rate sped up as the demon followed, standing way too close for comfort and most definitely invading his personal space. "'You're my favorite brother'," he sneered, perfectly mimicking Mabel's voice. "Did you see that look of utter betrayal? That was priceless! Wanna see it again?" 

Dipper glared at him, opening his mouth to tell him to piss off; the words died in his throat as the memory forced its way into his head; he heard the echoes of the words that were not his own, Mabel's quivering voice and the tears shining in her eyes as she turned away. Even through the haze of forced recollection he could hear Bill laughing uproariously. "I could watch this all day!"

"Stop it," Dipper managed to grit out; the effort it took to break through the mental tampering left him gasping for air, the faint throbbing of an incoming migraine blooming in his skull. "What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?" 

The haze dispersed as quickly as it came, taking the headache with it. The temporary relief lasted but a moment; something deep in Dipper's stomach twisted as the demon reached for him, gloved fingertips cool against his cheek. "Isn't it obvious? You sure are slow on the uptake sometimes." 

Dipper trembled, attempting to pull free only to find the hand wrapped around his neck, holding him against the barrier. "See, I like you," Bill continued, running his fingers through the bit of the teenager's hair poking from beneath his signature cap. "You can be incredibly dense when the mood hits, but aside from that your mental defenses are amazing." The sharp golden hue of his eye deepened; the pressure against his windpipe wasn't the only thing restricting Dipper's ability to breathe. "It'll be fun seeing how much they can take before they crumble. Also...you owe me."

As difficult as it was to do anything besides struggling to fill his lungs, Dipper croaked, not without a great deal of exertion, "For what?"

"Let me refresh your memory." The clearing, the barrier, and Bill faded away, followed by the reappearance of the pain in his head. 

_He was running._

_Panic fueled his trajectory towards safety despite the burn in his legs, an unknown horror tearing through the woods behind him._

Dipper was well aware of the fact that he was experiencing a rather vivid memory, blurring the line between his thoughts and reality beyond recognition. "When was this?"

"Don't you remember?" 

_His heart hammered in his chest, the thought that he could actually die lingering in the forefront of his consciousness._

The phantom sensations flooding his system were overwhelming, and Dipper sank to his knees, crunching the dry pine needles beneath his palms. The pain in his head intensified. "If you tampered with my memories of course I don't!" 

_ T _ _he sharp pang of a twisted ankle drew a loud cry of protest from him as he felt himself crashing into the dirt, nearly biting his tongue during the impact with the ground. It was followed by the most severe pain he'd ever experienced, something sharp tearing into the flesh of his back and constricting --_  he wasn't sure if he were screaming in the memory or the present --  _radiating throughout his entire body, which began to ascend._

"...the day I woke up in the woods." Speaking was a nearly insurmountable task, the words coming out in a whisper. "Was that when I woke up in the woods?" 

The fingertips gripping his chin were definitely not from his memories, nor the warm breath against his ear. "Good boy."

_He could feel himself lying on the ground; every nerve alight and every breath a stroke of agony, one of his arms strangely absent. He couldn't speak, he could barely breathe, his mind was a blank slate of pain pain pain and he was going to die._

In the present, trapped in a remote clearing in the woods with things he didn't want to remember assaulting his senses, he realized he couldn't speak now, either. Dipper whimpered. 

"When I found you, you were on your way out, Pine Tree." The demon shimmered into view before him, the only point of light in the impenetrable darkness surrounding him. "Bleeding to death in the woods,  _all alone_. Do you remember how it felt? Dying?"

"Please...I can't..." For the second time that day, tears cascaded down his cheeks. Dipper knew how desperate he must have sounded, but phantom pain or not he knew he couldn't withstand it much longer. Bill turned away, shaking his head dramatically. "I offered you a deal and you  _rejected_  me! Just about broke my heart." 

As with the headache, the searing heat in his chest was real. Dipper lowered his gaze to see what he hoped was only a projection of his own heart floating in the air before him; the blue threads wrapped around it gleamed with an ethereal light that was both strangely beautiful and sickening to behold. It was the same hue as the flames he'd once seen engulfing the demon's hands, right before making one of the worst decisions of his life. The malice in Bill's voice chilled him even further. "So I decided to take yours." 

The shadows faded, as did the pain, thankfully; upon opening his eyes once more he was relieved to see the clearing, still drained of color but wonderfully  _real_. Dipper sighed, running his hands over his chest, over his heart, now safely nestled within his ribcage where it belonged. And now that he knew what had happened in the woods a couple of weeks of ago, as well as the precarious position he'd been thrust into against his will (the bastard had been trying to turn him against his own sibling), the fear and desperation waxed into something that was likely foolish but perfectly justified: blinding anger. 

He scrambled to his feet, letting out a feral snarl that sounded foreign to his ears, and slammed a tightly balled fist into the demon's side. It may have been the only shot he got in (before being lifted into the air by some invisible force, flailing and shouting a nearly incomprehensible stream of insults), but at least he had the satisfaction of seeing the brief expression of dismay on Bill's face. It didn't last long. "Watch it, kid." 

Dipper was too far gone in his rage to heed the warning, still straining against whatever force held him aloft. "Fuck you!" 

"Thought about it already, decided to wait a few years," came the far too cheerful reply; it only served to drive the wedge in further. Dipper struggled futilely for a few more minutes before the demon sighed, clearly exasperated. "Look, kid, I'm gonna be frank."

"Whatever it is, no," Dipper snapped. "Stay away from me, and stay the hell away from my sister." 

"You know, if you weren't so cute, the stupidity would probably be a turn-off." The teenager gasped as the force holding him in place dissipated, unceremoniously dumping him on the ground. The impact both winded him and served as a reminder that he wasn't dealing with some garden variety bully. The entity staring down at him with a rather unhinged look in the one eye that was visible could very well snap him like a twig if he wished. Dipper wasn't sure whether that was a better alternative than what he seemed to be suggesting. "Let's get something straight. _You_ are not in control of anything." A thin string of blue light wormed its way through his shirt, lengthening and winding its way around his neck; Dipper shuddered involuntarily as it constricted only to find the thread vanishing the moment it touched his skin. "If I wanted to strangle you with your own strings I could. There's really no reason to drag this out any longer."

The blue flames flared up, as expected, and with yet another dramatic flourish Bill extended the hand to the sullen teenager making a point of avoiding eye contact with him. "So what's it going to be?"

Dipper narrowed his eyes, glaring daggers at his assailant. "No." 

"No?" Beneath the demon's blithe, carefree tone something jagged and dangerous lay that almost made Dipper reconsider his decision. He pushed the apprehension aside, remaining steady as he repeated himself. 

"No."

"Oh." The flames extinguished, and the demon frowned, sounding disappointed. "That wasn't very smart, Pine Tree. I don't handle rejection well." The words held an alarming note of warning that faded away instantly as Bill smiled again, shrugging. "Oh well! It's hilarious watching you struggle, so go ahead and resist. It'll make the moment you break  _so much sweeter._ _"_

And then he was gone, leaving no evidence of his presence. The color flooded back into the clearing, tinting the ground and fallen leaves their natural hue. Dipper stared at the spot where he'd stood; it was the middle of summer but he felt cold all over, shivering while glancing from side to side suspiciously. The entire clearing looked sinister, now; the few shadows cast by the sunlight streaming through the trees bulged as if they concealed some kind of creeping horror, and the bed of pine needles he'd collapsed in what seemed like ages ago was no longer soft and comfortable. He might as well have been sitting in a pile of actual needles. 

The word stuck out, and he couldn't understand why until he remembered Mabel, sadly gathering up her yarn and knitting needles ( _her eyes, you know you want to_ ) in their room before he left. 

All exhaustion forgotten, Dipper stood up and ran back to the Mystery Shack as fast as his legs could carry him.


	6. Dipper Resists (To the Best of His Ability)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...that 'Dark' tag really comes into play here. I'm sorry. Also it's all downhill from here. I'll get back to Sentiment soon.

The Shack was closed for business by the time Dipper made it back. There were no tourists in sight and the house stood silent. Dipper's heart faltered at the sight, and, immediately assuming the worst, he raced across the lawn and into the Shack. "Mabel!"

His call went unanswered, by either its target or Stan; upon stumbling into the living room he found his twin curled up in Stan's chair, her yarn and needles having fallen from her lap onto the floor. "Mabel!"

His sister stirred, yawning. "Huh?" She stretched, arching back like a cat, and slowly opened her eyes. Then she caught sight of him standing in the doorway and stiffened. "Oh. Hi."

Ignoring the mild disappointment in her tone, Dipper rushed over to her, overcome with both anxiety and relief. For a moment he struggled to catch his breath, clinging to the arm of the chair as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. A flicker of concern crossed Mabel's face, but she remained quiet for once, regarding him curiously. 

"Are you okay?" 

Mabel frowned. "Why?"

"I mean okay okay." Throwing caution to the wind, Dipper reached over and seized his sister's hand. It was warm and real and he had to ignore the urge to pull her into another tight hug.  _It wasn't me._  The realization that all of his irritation, all of the negative and borderline violent thoughts he'd felt whenever he was around her for the past couple of weeks were not his own, and the sense of relief filled his head with hot air, rendering him lightheaded. 

Mabel yanked her hand back. "I'm  _fine_. What's wrong with you? Why are you freaking out?"

_Just breathe. She's okay._

After a few deep breaths Dipper managed to compose himself, releasing his grip on the armchair and seating himself on the floor in front of her. Mabel gazed down at him with feigned indifference; she must have been  _really_  angry with him, and he couldn't blame her. "So...I know you're probably mad at me," he began; his sister folded her arms over her chest and turned away but he could tell she was still listening. "And you have every right to be. I've been the crappiest brother ever to you lately, and you don't deserve it." 

"Go on." Mabel continued to face the other direction, but her tone was softer this time. 

"I'm really sorry if I made you feel like it was your fault I'm not sleeping well."

As suspected, Mabel's ability to remain angry or hold a grudge was as short-lived as ever. She swung her legs over the side of the chair, her eyes lit up hopefully. "So I don't snore?" 

"Uh..." Dipper fumbled for a neutral response that wasn't an outright lie, then gave up. "Yeah, you snore. And it's pretty loud." Mabel huffed, folding her arms again. "But that's not it! It's me. It's not you at all."

Mabel's face fell; she let out an exasperated sigh. "The journal again?"

Dipper nodded. Mabel's reaction was the disheartening resignation of someone who'd become weary of repeating themselves to a seemingly deaf audience. This time he felt another kind of guilt; whereas the secrets of the forest and the town still intrigued him and occupied a great deal of his time Mabel appeared to be straying from the path they'd initially traveled together. "Just hear me out. It's...I'm worried that the reason for all the weird stuff that happens around here is hidden somewhere in that book and it's up to me to figure it out. Everyone's busy with other stuff, and-"

"Everyone's busy living, Dipper," Mabel interrupted, with an uncharacteristic air of austerity that stole the rest of his words. Dipper lowered his head, staring at the floor. 

"Yeah, I know." 

"I don't want you to get left behind. I'm not saying you shouldn't keep working on it, and you know we're happy to help whenever we can or you need it." Mabel's hands toyed idly with a lock of hair, curling it around her index finger. Serious conversations were not her style, and it showed. "But we don't live here. We have three months every year and then we go home." 

Dipper nodded again, downcast. She had a point, albeit an unpleasant one. Changes that he didn't want to acknowledge loomed on the horizon, and soon their summer vacations would be very different from their adventures from a couple of years ago. It lurked among the discarded cosmetics that lined Mabel's bed alongside her craft supplies, Wendy's college pamphlets bright and shiny with clearly Photoshopped students engaged in college stuff that she and Dipper made fun of during their movie nights. Was he getting left behind? 

His heart clenched, as if being constricted, and Dipper bit his lip to keep from crying out. It reminded him that he now had  _other_  problems that he had no idea how to deal with.  _You should tell her. Maybe she can help._  

The pain in his chest flared up again, and this time he was forced to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep a straight face. If it wasn't obvious that the spasms weren't random before, it was now. Bill was pulling -- no, tugging -- on those strings; he didn't want Mabel to find out, and he wasn't being subtle about it in the least. Dipper swallowed the lump of anxiety rising in the back of his throat. This was going to be harder than he'd thought.

"I know," he muttered. "I'm just worried."

It wasn't exactly a lie, but he felt awful anyway. The constricting sensation faded, the dream demon apparently satisfied with his forced silence. Dipper ignored the urge to mentally tell him to fuck himself; he wasn't giving up yet, not by a long shot, but it was probably better to wait until he could figure out how to outsmart Bill instead of risking an actual heart attack. 

"This place was weird before we got here, and it'll probably always be weird. But everyone seems to live with it well enough." Mabel smiled, sliding out of the chair and sitting next to him. "And I'm worried about  _you_ , because you're my dumb brother and I love you." 

His spirits lifted at the words, and Dipper smiled himself, overjoyed at being forgiven so easily. "Awkward sibling moment?"

"Awkward sibling moment!" Mabel cried, launching herself at her brother and giving him a tight bear hug. 

Then she punched him, right in the stomach. 

"Ow!" Dipper doubled over. It wasn't a  _hard_  punch but the sudden but likely inevitable betrayal was still surprising. "What the hell, Mabel?"

"That was for yelling at me earlier," Mabel grinned. "Now we're even."

"How is that even? You punched me in the stomach!" 

As if summoned by the possibility of entertainment Stan suddenly appeared in the doorway, tour guide getup discarded in favor of a grimy shirt and pair of shorts that may or may not have been washed within the last few months. He took stock of the situation unfolding before him; Mabel standing over Dipper with a fist raised in the air triumphantly. "Is this actual conflict or lukewarm family bickering?"

Dipper sat up, still clutching his abdomen. "Um..."

Mabel, on the other hand, had a gleam in her eye that he didn't exactly like the look of. "I dunno, Grunkle Stan," she said innocently. "Is this a pay per view opportunity?" 

Stan's face lit up, with a matching gleam that both worried Dipper and reminded him that Mabel and Stan were  _definitely_  related. "Isn't it always?"

And then his sister had him in a headlock, flipping his cap off and digging her fist into his scalp in a noogie that he hadn't thought her capable of. "Wait what?"

"Sorry Dipper, I need the money! I've spent almost everything I brought with me at the gelato shop!" 

"Oh my god, really Mabel?"

"Did you see him? He's like a confectionery-peddling Adonis!" 

Stan settled into his seat to enjoy the show (and also to watch his grandniece and nephew horse around with a sentimental fondness that he refused to lay claim to out loud), and Dipper managed to push his troubles to the back of his mind. Temporarily. 

 

-

 

The relative peace didn't last. Honestly, he hadn't expected it to; Bill was nothing if not persistent, and although the knowledge of his influence made it a little easier to control himself whenever the THOUGHTS slithered into his skull and whispered horrible things ( _you hate her she's a nuisance she's loud she's annoying push her down the stairs poke her eyes out do it do it do it do it)_. Instead of allowing them to push him into the level of frustration where he lashed out he took to making excuses to run off, some flimsier than others, but it worked for maintaining their now mostly repaired relationship. Mabel was still visibly worried about him, but she acquiesced to his insistence that he was fine, just a little under the weather. 

Even though it was perfectly obvious that he still wasn't sleeping well. In his campaign to spare his sister's feelings Dipper took to subterfuge, making a show of getting into bed and pretending to doze off, while his thoughts raced and his heart slammed against his ribcage and the exhaustion left his body heavy and sluggish beneath the bedcovers. Mabel seemed to buy it for the most part; it was made easier by increasingly frequent sleepovers at her friends' houses (and, on one or two occasions, Pacifica's). The isolation would have bothered him under different circumstances, but now it was a blessing. It also kept him from dwelling on the fact that each one of his attempts to talk to her resulted in a damn near incapacitating migraine -- he wanted to tell her so he wouldn't feel so very alone, but the opportunity continued to evade him.

Maintaining the facade took enough effort on its own; straining against the invisible cords that wove themselves into his body and mind was a nightmare. 

He suspected that the mind games he'd been yanked into against his will were mostly for the demon's own amusement; if he wasn't careful he found himself falling prey to random tugs that were merely inconvenient, with just enough frequency to drive him up the wall. He reached for a box of cereal, his hands strayed towards another. He dropped things continually, tripped over his own two feet -- the entire experience was akin to being pranked by a mischievous spirit, but he knew good and damn well that Bill Cipher was anything but. Losing control over his actions scared him, and even on the nights when he wasn't awakened by nightmares he found himself unable to sleep, staring at the patch of moonlight on the floor and waiting for the sun to rise. 

It wasn't as if he took the abuse lying down. Dipper's pile of books rented from the local library grew into enough stacks to possibly make a fort out of. The journal provided no answers regarding severing a malevolent being's influence, strangely enough, and while the paranormal literature he found on the dusty shelves was mildly useful none of the information about expelling spirits was applicable to his particular situation.

After a week and a half of barely sleeping and mentally struggling to retain control over his mind and his limbs Dipper looked absolutely terrible, and it no longer went unnoticed by any of the Shack's inhabitants or employees. 

He was minding the cash register in Wendy's absence, blinking furiously to avoid allowing his heavy eyelids to slip shut. He was usually able to get a few hours of sleep here and there (it was how he knew that Bill was toying with him, keeping him just sane and healthy enough to continue fighting back), but over the past two days that meager amount of rest had dwindled to about three hours total. As a result he managed to stay awake, but barely, and developed a powerful headache for his trouble. He kept fumbling, either dropping coins or having to double check when counting the money he received or returned in the form of change. His head throbbed enough to make him nauseous, and whenever he got a chance he rested his forehead against the counter. 

A hand gripped his shoulder, startling him. Dipper lifted his head to find Stan regarding him with concern. "Kid, you alright?"

Dipper looked up at his grand uncle with bleary red eyes accentuated with dark semi-circles beneath them; Stan grimaced. "I'm good. It's just a headache." 

Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Dipper, you look like a zombie. A real one."

Dipper waved his hand away dismissively. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

The fact that he managed to swat himself in the face while doing so made his assertion slightly less believable. 

"Go take a break." 

The words were so foreign that Dipper's mouth dropped open. "Huh?"

He lacked the energy to resist as his grand uncle nudged him from behind the counter, eyeing the cash register with distrust. "I don't even remember how to work this thing," he muttered to himself grimly. 

"Grunkle Stan I'm fine!" Dipper insisted, but Stan shook his head. 

"Go take a nap or something. Your parents would kill me if you died on my watch." He turned back to glare at the unsuspecting machine, still murmuring dark and likely vulgar things at the prospect of operating it. Despite how terrible he felt Dipper couldn't ignore the surge of gratitude. Stan was a firm devotee of the school of sucking it up, and he usually only excused Dipper or Mabel from work when they were clearly sick...or they begged hard enough for the afternoon off, or Mabel did the thing with the inner glow and the sparkles and the puppy dog eyes...

It occurred to him that over the past few years he and his sister had really grown on their alternately greedy and dishonest Grunkle, regardless of how much he denied it and claimed that they were simply more reliable than Wendy or Soos. "Is that it?" he asked innocently.

Stan glanced over his shoulder at him. "Is what it?"

Dipper grinned, letting the question hang in the air, and within a few seconds Stan seemed to catch on. "Are you fishing for affection again?"

"No..."

Stan groaned. "You couldn't lie if your life depended on it. Yeah, I'd miss you or something. Whatever. I want you back on this register at 4, got it?"

"Loud and clear!" Dipper saluted, racing back upstairs just as a clanging noise followed by a couple of words that were definitely not work appropriate rang out through the gift shop. He hoped the cash register managed to survive his absence. 

 

-

 

Their room was deserted with Mabel off giving her very first solo tour, and Dipper settled onto his bed gingerly. He had a good four hours before he needed to be back downstairs, and hopefully Bill would be courteous enough to let him catch at least an hour or two of sleep. It was also a chance to flip through the journal again (although he was sure he'd exhausted its usefulness in respect to his predicament) without his sister continually stealing glances in his direction with that anxious expression on her face. 

( _Oh, if only they knew.)_

The voice erupted in his head like a thunderclap; Dipper buried his face in his hands. "Shut up."

( _Is that it? I know you can do better than that, Pine Tree. Come on.)_

"One day. Can't I have just one day without you bothering me?" He knew the answer to that question, but with his skull splitting open critical thinking was beyond his current range of abilities. 

A slight shimmer, little more than a wrinkle in the air, and his adversary appeared lounging on Mabel's bed, just as well-dressed and composed as usual. "If I didn't know better I'd think you're not happy to see me. That kinda hurts, you know?"

Dipper cringed, both at his physical presence and his inconsiderate invasion of his living space. "I'm not!" he snapped. "I haven't gotten more than a few hours of sleep every couple of days for over a week."

"And whose fault is that?" Bill shrugged. "You're the one making it hard on yourself." 

Dipper scooted away as if burned the moment he reappeared next to him; he managed to catch himself right before he toppled over onto the floor. The demon either didn't notice or didn't care. "I'd let you sleep as long as you want. I'd even let you have beautiful dreams every now and then." 

The tingling in his limbs awakened; this time he could  _feel_  the invisible threads curling around him and tugging him back towards Bill no matter how hard he struggled, right into the demon's waiting embrace. Dipper stiffened, his skin crawling at the man's touch. He wasn't  _cold_ , the way he'd expected him to be; for all intents and purposes the body beside him could have been another normal human being. 

But it wasn't, and the knowledge that the fingers lovingly stroking his cheek could pry the flesh from his bones just as easily as they'd dug into his chest and entangled his heart turned his stomach. 

"If I let you be happy all the time," Bill continued, his lips curling into a chilling leer, "I wouldn't get to hear those cute little noises you make when you cry in your sleep. Or see how those pretty brown eyes dilate when you're afraid." 

He fought the urge, strained against it with every fiber of his being, but after a brief moment of resistance his head tilted up of his own accord, his eyes locking with the demon's. "Just like that."

Anger boiled up in Dipper's chest, staining his cheeks red. "No." he said shakily. With a burst of energy (driven by defiance) he shoved Bill away, scrambling to his feet and darting over to Mabel's side of the room. "I'm not going to be your pet or your puppet or your slave or whatever the fuck you want me to be!" Dipper yelled. In the back of his mind he knew he was making a mistake, and probably a considerably large one, but he was too far gone to care. 

His outburst wasn't met with the retaliation he expected; the demon regarded him with a blank expression that betrayed no inward anger or resentment. It was more unnerving than the alternative. "Why?" With all the audacity of someone that knew they had the upper hand, he stretched out on Dipper's bed as if he owned it, golden eyes trained on the ceiling. "I like it in there. Although..."

The familiar note of warning rose in his conversational tone, and Dipper decided that now was a good time to leave -- or he would have, had his treacherous legs not refused his order to inch towards the door. "You seem to think you have  _far_  more control over this situation than you think you do." 

His stupid, treacherous legs began to carry him in the opposite direction; away from the door, over to a pile of craft supplies on Mabel's nightstand: small spools of leftover yarn, a pile of assorted sequins, and a component of her recent foray into working with Sculpey for accessories - an X-acto knife with a very sharp blade that glittered in the afternoon sunlight. Dipper found that he was suddenly very, very focused on that knife. His voice trembled as he forced out words that were somehow his own, even though it felt as if the rest of his body no longer belonged to him. "What are you-" 

"Reminding you who's pulling your strings," Bill replied cheerfully, grabbing a random book from Dipper's pile and thumbing through it. "Oh man, whoever wrote this is so off." 

The knife's blade called to him, a siren song that sank into his fingers and drew his hand towards the instrument. They closed around the handle, surprisingly chilly against his flesh. It was even harder to speak with the headache digging into his consciousness and his strings laced around his throat, but Dipper managed to speak with an incredible amount of effort."You don't have to do this. Really." 

His other arm, the one not attached to the hand holding the knife, lifted of its own accord, stopping at chest height; the tip of the blade rested atop his skin, atop his forearm. 

And then it pierced his flesh, agonizingly slow, the sharpened blade parting his skin with ease. He would have screamed, but the strings around his throat drew tight, choking out his protest. One perfect red line, stop. The blade withdrew, tapping at the tip of the first line, then sank beneath the surface once more. The pain brought tears to his eyes; his mind was still his own, allowing him to watch himself carving a triangle into himself, blood running down his arm and dripping onto the floor. The sensation was far worse than finding himself pulled out of his body, and he silently prayed for Mabel's early return, as much as he wanted to keep her safe and far away from the malevolent being blithely ignoring him from the other side of the room.

_(She isn't coming. Shooting Star can't save you.)_

He finished one triangle, and started another. If not for the pain radiating throughout his entire arm the perfection of the lines would have been admirable. Had they been his handiwork. The demon continued to flip through his books, scoffing at some and chucking others - a very, very small part of Dipper burned with rage at the mistreatment of books he didn't own, although library fines were the least of his worries.

By the time he finished the third triangle his hand was trembling, his entire left arm was on fire, and the sight of his own blood was blurred by the tears that flowed over his cheeks and stained his collar. The moment the strings receded he sank to his knees, the knife clattering across the floor. He could speak, but aside from an involuntary spasming of his throat Dipper had nothing to say. He clutched his injured arm tightly against his chest, red blossoming across his shirt like late roses. 

The clicking of heels across the floorboards, and cool, leather-clad fingers brushed against his cheekbone, sliding along the incline of his jaw to grip his chin. "Do you understand now, Pine Tree? I  _let_ you rebel because it's amusing. For now. But I won't wait forever." 

Dipper willfully kept his eyes trained on the blood-splattered wood beneath him. "I don't want this." 

The hand on his chin forcibly tilted his head, the single visible eye gleaming brilliant gold, jagged teeth on display in a condescending sneer. "Not now. But when you're tired of struggling you'll come crawling to me,  _begging_  for it."

Dipper lapsed into sullen silence again, averting his eyes, ignoring the laugh that echoed throughout the room. The air shimmered, and he was alone, sitting on the floor in the afternoon sunlight. 

_(You might want to clean that up before Shooting Star sees. She's worried about you.)_

He closed and opened each of his hands, wiggling the fingers; he stood up, still trembling, and took several unsteady steps across the room. After confirming that he was in full control of himself, Dipper made his way into the bathroom, seeking out a first aid kit. He couldn't stand the idea of cleaning the wound with alcohol, but in the absence of peroxide it was all he had. He hissed, biting his lip as the liquid splashed over the three triangles now decorating his wrist. They weren't large, thankfully, but there was no way to disguise the shapes once they healed. Hopefully they wouldn't scar too badly. 

With his arm bandaged up and the first aid kit stowed away once more, he ran a hand towel under the faucet to attend to the blood on the floor. He was lucky that it didn't stain thanks to the scuffed layer of varnish over the wooden planks. By the time he'd finished cleaning up the mess on the floor and retrieving the books Bill had tossed around his headache was back in full force and he still had a good two and a half hours before he needed to return to the gift shop. Dipper crawled into his bed, rolled over on his side and cried himself to a thankfully dreamless sleep. 

 

-

 

Mabel bounded up the stairs excitedly, hair bouncing behind her. Her first Mystery Shack tour without Stan's assistance had gone splendidly, partially due to her undying enthusiasm, and partially due to the fact that it clearly didn't take much to entertain the tourists that dropped by the Shack. She beamed, remembering how her Grunkle Stan glowed with pride at the influx of 'shmucks' poring over the overpriced knick-knacks in the gift shop. She was surprised to see Stan working the cash register instead of Dipper, especially since he didn't seem particularly adept at it. 

She almost collided with her brother exiting their room, his expression rather downcast. He looked a little less haggard than he had earlier that day, at least. "Dipper! It was awesome!" she yelled, throwing herself at him and hugging him. "Everyone loved it!"

Dipper flinched at the contact, and it was then that she noticed the bandages wrapped around his wrist. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Dipper froze. "It's just an accident! It's cool, I took care of it."

Mabel may have been a particularly effervescent, happy teenager, but she wasn't blind to some of the issues that plagued her peers. And the positioning of those bandages  _bothered_ her for reasons that she didn't want to address head on. "You know...you can talk to me, right? Whatever's going on...you don't have to deal with it alone. I'm here."

"Yeah, I know." Dipper said despondently, then turned away and headed downstairs, without looking back. 

Mabel watched him go, the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach reasserting itself. She'd never stopped worrying about her brother, even after their fight earlier in the month, and while things were back to normal between them she knew he wasn't fine. He put up a good facade, but it was hard to hide something like that from your twin. 

She closed the door behind her, pondering how to approach the situation later on when they were alone. Something caught her eye from beneath her nightstand, something shining. Mabel leaned down to retrieve the object, then dropped it with a gasp as her vision blurred with tears. 

It was her X-acto knife, and the tip of the blade was stained red. 


	7. Dipper is Defiant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback, yet again! I decided to finish this descent into depression before continuing Sentiment, so here we go!

Dipper winced at the sight of the wound; even after two days of reapplying Neosporin and changing out the bandages the three triangles still stung with the same intensity and looked as fresh as they had the day he'd unwillingly inflicted them upon himself. By now they should have begun to scab over, or at least stop the slight weeping that required changing the bandages in the first place. It was a particularly troubling sight, for a variety of reasons. While the wound's refusal to heal at least delayed having to come up with a passable excuse for the new addition to his wrist, the fact that it didn't seem to be healing at all had to be due to Bill's influence, somehow. 

It also hurt like a bitch, although the antibacterial cream he'd picked up included pain relief that dulled the ache considerably. 

With a heavy sigh, he finished wrapping his wrist up as neatly as possible, opting to flush the stained bandages instead of throwing them away. "Shit." Dipper inspected himself in the bathroom mirror; the same dark semicircles, tired eyes, and uneasy frown that had taken the cynical yet not entire unpleasant expression he normally wore. "This is bad. This is so bad."

The past two days had drifted by uneventfully, sans any pressure on the invisible strings binding him to the demon whatsoever. Bill had pretty much left him alone, which wasn't necessarily reassuring. The incident from earlier in the week had left him shaken, more so than ever, and although he'd gotten more sleep over that 48-hour period than he had in the entire last month it had done little to alleviate his exhaustion. 

And there was, of course, the gradually waxing fear lingering just below the surface of his consciousness, rearing its ugly head and asserting itself ever so often. To an extent he'd been afraid of Bill before, from their previous encounters -- how could he not be? Being forcibly dragged out of one's body wasn't exactly a pleasant experience, even if he and Mabel had triumphed in the end, and while his apprehension involving the dream demon wasn't as acute as it probably should have been with no interference from Bill for the last couple of years he'd sort of moved past it. The odd tattoo now engraved in his arm was a bitter reminder that he wasn't dealing with some run-of-the-mill bully; Bill Cipher was a serious threat and he had no qualms about physically harming him to get what he wanted.

He refused to dwell on the thought that what the demon wanted appeared to be  _him_. He didn't know how to handle that knowledge.

A sharp rap against the bathroom door broke through his contemplation, and Dipper hurried to replace the contents of the first aid kit and remove any evidence of his activities. "In a minute!"

With the bathroom satisfactorily tidied, he opened the door to leave -- only to be greeted by the sight of his sister. "Oh. Hey."

"Hey," Mabel responded, softly; her hands were clasping each other and she looked as disquieted as she had for the past couple of days as well. Overall, the atmosphere in the Mystery Shack was rather dour, to the point where Stan had stood up earlier that afternoon, declared them both pubescent party poopers, and promptly disappeared to go have fun somewhere that wasn't overrun with moody teenagers. Dipper was pretty sure it was just an excuse to spend the day over at Lazy Susan's house, and that wasn't something he wanted to think about  _at all_. 

The twins stared at anything but each other for a few awkward seconds before Dipper ventured, hesitantly, "So did you need to get in here or..."

"I was just checking on you." Mabel's eyes strayed towards the bandages on his wrist long enough for Dipper to understand the unspoken implication, and he ignored the urge to grab it protectively. 

"Oh, that?" He was well aware that his voice and expression were a dead giveaway (because he really was a terrible liar), but anything to avoid the truth. "Don't worry about it. Really. I just scratched it up out in the woods. Doing...dude...stuff." He cringed inwardly. 

As expected, Mabel raised a skeptical eyebrow (which was unusual for her; ordinarily she was pretty vocal about her suspicions). She stared directly at him, as if trying to tease some hidden truth out of him with her silence. "Really?"

"Really." For a brief moment Dipper felt like the worst person in the world. "It's okay."

Mabel regarded him quietly for another minute or so before brightening once more, much to his relief. "Okay! Well, as long as you cleaned it out and everything so it doesn't get infected and fall off. Although you could totally get a bionic arm if it did," she mused. Dipper rolled his eyes at her theatrics. 

"That's pretty extreme for a cut," he said. "But thanks. For worrying about me."

Mabel beamed. The air of tension between them dissipated, and they shared one of the moments of mental unity that Dipper had come to refer to as 'twin moments'. "I'm not going anywhere tonight," Mabel piped up. 

"Huh?"

"Yeah." Her explanation came out in a steady stream, bordering on mildly hysterical. "I was gonna go hang out with the girls but Candy's busy with that whole world domination thing and Grenda's got another date and I was like  _hey_  why not spend some quality time with my little bro?"

"Five minutes, Mabel."

"It still counts!" Mabel placed her hands on his shoulders, and Dipper could see the excited gleam in her eyes as she continued to ramble. "But we can stay up all night watching those dumb ghost shows you like-"

"They aren't dumb!"

"-and eat a bunch of stuff that'll shorten our lives by a decade, play mini-golf in the house and break another window that we'll hear about for two more years since Grunkle Stan is too cheap to replace it...you know, like we used to." There was a touch of desperation in her voice; and the look in her eyes wasn't just her usual 'sad puppy' expression. It was anxious and everything that was the opposite of who Mabel was, and seeing it made Dipper feel even worse for being the cause of it.

"Alright," he agreed, forcing his own smile even as the pain in his wrist spiked. 

Mabel's face lit up like the summer sun on a clear day. "You really want to?"

Dipper shrugged. "It's not like I had any other plans. And since Grunkle Stan isn't here..."

"YES!" Mabel squealed, shaking him wildly. "This is gonna be soo much fun! Hey Dipper, you know what time it is?"

Dipper opened his mouth to respond, only to suddenly find it full of squeezy cheese. "Wha?"

Mabel shook the can she'd whipped out, grinning. "That's what time it is. Squeezy cheese time."

-

Six hours later the Pines twins collapsed on the living room floor, laughing hysterically, and for the first time in  _weeks_  Dipper felt happy, oh so incredibly happy to be alive. 

The rest of the afternoon and evening had been spent like two kids much younger than they were, and it was great to just let go. Their room was a mess (and the damned window was broken, but there was something really satisfying about sending a golf ball through that triangular pane of glass), there was a scorch mark on the carpet from a failed attempt to summon an Ifrit (totally Mabel's idea, despite Dipper's insistence that their attic couldn't  _handle_  a true Ifrit, and also why the hell would she want to do that anyway followed by an argument over the journal that quickly devolved into a pillow fight), and they'd discovered that literally anything could be deep-fried, although the results were sometimes less than stellar. 

Deep fried Oreos were good. Deep fried deep fried Oreos were a mistake. 

Mabel was telling some joke that didn't make any sense no matter how hard Dipper thought about it, but it really didn't matter. She was there, as happy as she usually was when she wasn't fretting over him, and his stomach was full of utter crap and there was a mess to clean up before Stan returned and buried them in the woods, and he was happy. He'd forgotten what it felt like, the sheer, unadulterated joy of existence; somewhere in the struggle for his own body and mind he'd let the feeling slip away from him. Even if it was transitory, it was real, and he owed it all to Mabel for dragging him out of the shadows for awhile.

"I missed this," Mabel sighed contentedly, patting her stomach. "Just hanging out."

"I guess we really haven't done it in awhile, huh?" Dipper gazed up at the ceiling. The wood was pockmarked with tiny holes, and he imagined he could see constellations in it. 

"Nope." Mabel sat up, poking him in the cheek. "I'm busy, you're  _super_   mopey..."

"I'm not mopey!" Dipper protested, sitting up as well. "I'm an introvert. Sorta." It wasn't exactly true; most of the time he seemed to straddle the line. 

"You're not a complete introvert, though," Mabel pointed out, echoing his thoughts. "You like hanging out with Wendy and her friends. And you're not usually so...hidey."

"Hidey? You mean avoidant?"

"You know what I mean!" Mabel snapped; Dipper couldn't tell if she was actually irritated or not, but the mood had definitely changed. "It's like you've closed yourself off to everyone. And you look so tired all the time." She fell silent, leaning back against Stan's chair. 

Dipper's stomach clenched; he knew it wasn't just from overeating. He hadn't attempted to tell Mabel about the Bill issue since 'the incident', mostly out of subconscious fear but also the understanding that the demon didn't intend to make it easy to do so. The phantom sharp pang of the strings wrapped around his heart constricting wasn't something he'd forget anytime soon. Nor the sensation of being choked into silence. He shivered at the memory, hoping Mabel didn't notice. "It's...I'm just dealing with some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Mabel asked. She did a pretty good job of masking her apprehension, but just as she knew when he was lying he could pinpoint when she was anxious.

Dipper struggled for a satisfactory response and came up empty-handed. "I dunno. Just...stuff."

"Stuff you can't tell me about?"

Dipper didn't respond. He didn't know how. The words danced along the tip of his tongue, but the triangles on his wrist flared up to an almost unbearable level and forced them back down. It confirmed his suspicion that the wound wasn't just an egocentric act of sadism on Bill's part, but somewhat of an electric collar. It seemed unnecessary given that he knew the demon could just choke the life out of him if the mood struck. 

Mabel spoke up again, and this time her distress was obvious. "Dipper...if it's something bad...I want you to come talk to me. Even if you feel like you can't talk to anyone else." She sniffled, and Dipper turned to look at her. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she looked miserable. 

"Mabel..."

"I love you." Mabel managed through her tears, tucking her knees beneath her chin and allowing her hair to hide her face. "I don't want you to be sad or feel like you're alone. Do you know how crappy everything would be without you here? Everything would be grey. All the color would wash away and I'd be left with an old timey photo version of what my life used to be."

Dipper tried to imagine life without his sister. As much as they bickered and dear god was she aggravating sometimes, he felt the same way. He couldn't actually form a working mental image of waking up without her, if not in the same vicinity but somewhere else waking up under the same sky. 

This time he didn't hug her; instead he reached over and grabbed her hand. Mabel threaded her fingers through his. 

"I love you too. And if...if things ever get really bad," Dipper took a deep breath, "You'll be the first person I run to." 

Mabel peeked out from behind the fluffy curtain of her hair. She sounded very small, like she was many years younger crawling into his bed after a nightmare. "Promise?"

"Promise." Dipper punctuated the statement by tightening his grip on her hand. "I'll always be around to be lame and embarrass you in front of your friends. Or the other way around." Because most of the time it was the other way around, but now really wasn't the time to address that. 

Mabel laughed, and it was beautiful sound. "We can be lame and embarrassing together."

She continued to sniffle, having worked herself up into a state of vexation that she had trouble controlling. Dipper held her hand while she cried, letting her get it all out. "You're going to get a headache if you keep crying," he said after a few minutes. 

"I know," Mabel whimpered. "I'm trying to stop but my dumb tear ducts are broken." 

"Well..." Dipper reached into the space on the side of the chair with his free hand, digging around for the package he'd hidden there a few days before. He'd intended it as an apology for yelling at her and never found the chance to actually give it to her. "If you get a headache we can't watch this."

Mabel looked up at him, then gasped at the brightly colored DVD case. "Oh my gosh, is that the first season of Affection Abbey High?" 

Dipper nodded, proudly. "You see this? This is in my Amazon search history now. I did that for you."

Mabel's eyes glittered. "And you're going to watch it with me?"

"...yes." Dipper shuddered at the thought, but he was determined to cheer her up, even if it meant a sacrifice of his dignity and brain cells. "But only like one episode." 

Mabel wiped her face with her sleeve, and almost bowled him over, squealing. "Oh my gosh oh my gosh you're the best brother ever." 

Dipper accepted the embrace graciously, but his eyes remained trained on the DVD. "Seriously, let's just watch one episode. That way you can save the rest for later when I'm not around!"

Mabel straightened up, sweeping her hair over her shoulder dramatically. "Oh, trust me - you're not going to want to stop at one. Entertainment like this should be  _illegal_."

Dipper began to regret the deep fried Oreos. They were definitely not going to taste the same coming back up, and vomiting was now imminent. 

-

Four episodes later Dipper couldn't take it anymore. Mabel was through the roof, shaking him violently every time a character she liked or found attractive appeared, shouting abuse and encouragement in turns at the screen, and singing along with the theme song  _every single time_. On one hand, he was glad she was happy, but on the other he now had an appreciation for what she went through when he did the same thing with a mystery novel. He managed to sneak away under the guise of making popcorn, leaving his sister with her eyes glued to the spectacle of teenage angst and drama. 

He slipped into the kitchen, shaking his head to clear it of the sound of teen girls spitting virulent insults at each other between complimenting their frenemies' outfits. He wasn't going to abandon Mabel, especially with her being so very happy over him accompanying her, but he needed a break. 

A quick glance out the window revealed that it was pretty late at night. Grunkle Stan hadn't returned yet (maybe he was sleeping  _over_  at Lazy Susan's house, which Dipper  _didn't want to think about nope nope nope moving past that_ ), and it looked like he and Mabel would have the Shack to themselves for the rest of the night. 

He opened the fridge to poke around for any remaining soda that they  _hadn't_  drank already and managed to find a can of some questionable offbrand orange beverage. "Grunkle Stan..." he muttered to himself, opening the can and tilting it up to take a sip.

"You really are the  _best brother ever._ " 

Dipper choked on his mouthful of orange soda (which shot out of his nose) and dropped the can. "Shit!"

The laughter that rang out from behind him echoed in that grating manner, and Dipper whirled around to glare at the invader intruding upon his privacy once again. Bill was nearly doubled over with mirth. "That never gets old!" 

Dipper ignored him, grabbing a kitchen towel and wiping his face with it. "Why are you here?" he asked, sourly. The spike of fear at the demon's appearance was roughly thrust to the side by annoyance. "Don't you have someone else's life to ruin?"

Bill sniffled, hopping up on one of the stools and leaning against the table. "Because I want to be," he said flippantly. "What are  _you_  gonna do about it?"

Dipper bristled, continuing to clean up the spilled soda. "Start researching how to banish malevolent entities?" 

"Ha!" Bill waved his hand dismissively; the remnants of the can, the can itself, and any evidence of the prank disappeared. "You know none of that stuff works on me. I'm one of a kind, baby."

"Great." Dipper inspected his now dry shirt, unsure as to whether he should thank the bastard or run. "Not impressed, by the way."

"Ouch!" Bill cried, pressing his hands against where his heart might have been. "You're really cruel, Pine Tree, you know that?"

"I learned from the best." 

"Touché, kid!" The golden eye gleamed. "I like it." 

Dipper bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue again. As much as he really wanted to tell the dream demon exactly what he thought of him, the pain in his wrist discouraged any further insults. 

"Oh...before I forget." Bill turned to face him, and the jovial expression on his face shifted into something a good deal more unnerving. "You weren't thinking of telling Shooting Star about our arrangement, were you? That's strictly between you and me."

Fuck it. "What arrangement?" Dipper snapped, losing his composure. The unfairness of the situation had been hanging over his head for some time. It wasn't as if he'd asked the demon to save his life, especially not with such a high price in exchange for it. "I never agreed to anything!"

"You didn't?" Bill tilted his head to the side innocently. "Oh yeah, I guess that's true. Oh well, details!" 

Dipper clenched his fists. The burning sensation in his arm was beginning to dull in comparison to his desire to plant one of them squarely in the man's face. 

"Regardless, this is a two-player game, and it's in your best interests to keep it that way."

"Game?" Dipper looked incredulous. "How is this a game?"

The color drained from the wood and the towels and the surfaces of the apples in the bowl on the table; the clock's hands slowed to a stop, and the distant sound of Mabel hooting at the TV faded to a deafening silence. Dipper could hear his heartbeat. It occurred to him that any chance he had to run had disappeared along with the interior design. 

"Of course it's a game!" With the ambient noise gone the echo in the demon's voice intensified. He stood up and began to approach the teenager; Dipper forced himself to stand still. If he backed away he knew the bastard would just tug him forward as before; he refused to be yanked around any more than necessary. "I'm the cat, you're the mouse, I'm going to toy with you until I get bored and snap your spine in half." Dipper swallowed anxiously; standing his ground was becoming very difficult. He didn't remember Bill being so tall before, looming a couple of feet over him, and he definitely didn't remember the claws that were now stroking his face in a pantomime of affection. 

"But don't worry!" Bill's eye glowed brilliant gold, and he grinned, showing off the mouthful of spikes masquerading as teeth. "I'd never do that to you. You're far from boring. In fact, you're the most interesting meatbag I've come across in  _centuries_. Even if I did break you by accident, I'd put you back together again."

This time Dipper actually did cry out in pain as the claws against his cheek whipped across his face, tearing into the flesh and leaving a large gash along his cheekbone. Stunned into silence and stricken with agony, he pressed a hand against the wound, trembling at the sight of his own blood on his fingers. He stared up at the demon wordlessly. Bill's expression softened slightly, and he pressed the (now normal) hand he'd cut him with against the wound. The pain dissipated instantly as the wound knitted itself, leaving a very light, nearly imperceptible scar. "See? Good as new! Sort of."

Dipper ran his hand along his cheekbone. There didn't seem to be any evidence of what had just happened, and it didn't hurt anymore. 

"Hopefully Shooting Star won't notice this one," Bill mused; the dimensions of his body slowly shifted back to those from Dipper's memories. "She's way too observant for her own good sometimes."

The mention of his sister snapped Dipper out of it; the rage flared up in his chest again, overpowering both fear and common sense. "Don't you  _dare_ ," he hissed. "I don't care what you do to me, but leave Mabel out of this!" 

The demon raised an eyebrow at his outburst. "Of course! I wouldn't dream of involving her. And as long as  _you_  keep your pretty little mouth shut you won't have to worry about 'accidentally' dragging her into anything either." 

What he did next was stupid, and Dipper knew it was stupid, but he didn't care. After spending the better part of the day being reminded of how wonderful it was to be alive and how much he loved his sister (and the rest of his family) the interruption in his first good day in forever was even more unwelcome than usual. 

Also he was really sick of that stupid smile on Bill's face, and he wanted to wipe it off momentarily even if it meant losing his hand in the process. 

Dipper clenched his fist again and then decked him; he wasn't tall enough to go for his face but he did manage to get him in the stomach. Apparently the demon wasn't expecting it, because he let out an 'oof!' and clutched his abdomen, glaring at Dipper with disbelief. "I'm not going with you willingly," Dipper said coldly; the rational part of him continued to scream at him to run, to beg forgiveness, to do anything other than stand in front of the powerful being that he'd just punched in the stomach like a schoolyard bully. "And I haven't given up yet. I'll figure out how to break whatever this is, and when I do I want you out of my life and away from my sister."

Panting, on the verge of hyperventilating, he waited for the fallout, locking his gaze with the monster pretending to be a man in front of him. If he was going to die, at least he was going to die standing, and not cowering in fear no matter how much he wanted to. 

The calculating expression on the demon's face suggested that he was weighing the pros and cons of  _actually_  snapping his spine in half; after a minute or two he sighed, smoothing the wrinkles out of his clothing with a fastidiousness that was completely out of place for a guy that had just grown claws. "Oh, Pine Tree. You're lucky I like you so much." 

All of the jocundity in his voice had disappeared, and the air around him chilled. Dipper shivered involuntarily. "That includes your hands, so I'll allow you to keep them. You should thank me."

Dipper bit his tongue. Inwardly he wondered when his sense of self-preservation had wondered off and gotten lost. 

"Don't be a  _bitch_ , Pine Tree. Say 'thank you'." 

Dipper flinched at the insult but persisted in staring at him silently until the sensation of something crawling up through his throat forced him to cough out a forced "Thank you" that wasn't of his own devising. 

"You're welcome." The temperature dropped a couple of degrees. "I like you, but my patience is wearing thin. And since you're so dead set on being defiant, let's up the ante a bit, shall we?"

The tickling sensation in his throat remained even in the absence of the words, and Dipper continued to cough until tears of exertion welled up in the corner of his eyes. Bill continued to speak, talking over him as if nothing was happening. "I'll have you on your knees  _willingly_  in no time, Pine Tree. And I am going to make you  _crawl_." 

The tickling vanished, allowing Dipper to breath normally; he probably should have said 'thank you' but he refused to do so and Bill didn't seem interested in making him. The color filtered back into the world around him, and the clock resumed ticking. He could hear Mabel calling out something at the TV once more. The importance of noise had never been clearer to him, and the tension in his body began to dissolve. 

The tip of Bill's cane prodded at his lower back, and he glanced over his shoulder at the demon. He wasn't smiling. "Go enjoy the time you have left with her," he said, with visible restraint. "Clock's ticking." 

Dipper moved towards the door, still watching him warily, but Bill made no attempt to follow him. Just before he reached the doorway he heard the demon clear his throat behind him, and looked back to see the smile having returned. It was the kind of smile one could expect from a cat just before sinking its teeth into the mouse beneath its paw. "Also...you should be careful with what you say to someone like me. I'm certain there are some things I could do to you that you would  _definitely_  care about." He winked with his visible eye, and then Dipper was alone in the kitchen as before.

He raced to the bathroom, slammed the door behind him, and unloaded the contents of his stomach, heaving until there wasn't anything left. 

The triangles on his wrist stung, so he took the opportunity to change his bandages again. 

Then he brushed his teeth and rejoined his sister, who greeted him with her luminous smile and the announcement that he was just in time to see Mariabella and Gregory have their first kiss. 

Dipper settled down beside her and reached for her hand again; he didn't let go until after Mabel succumbed to the sugar and excitement running through her system and fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not writing that Stan/Susan fic. Nope. 
> 
> Yes, Dipper is a badass. That's pretty much canon. 
> 
> Also, deep fried Oreos *are* pretty good.


	8. Dipper is Desperate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...apparently I wasn't kidding about it being downhill from here. Don't update dark stories when you're depressed, kids. Thanks for the comments and kudos from those of you still riding this train to Sadtown.

She was fast, he had to give her credit. Keeping up with her erratic bobbing and weaving throughout the foliage was a hassle that only added to the knot of hatred searing a hole in his chest. His orders scrolled across his consciousness in bold red letters:  _ **Kill her. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her kill her killherkillherkillher-**_

She was shrieking, a terrified squeal that was grating against the edges of his already raw nerves. "Help! Somebody help me!"

He tore through the darkened woods after her, digging deep groves into the bark of passing trees with his claws, spurred on by the sharp sting of his Master's mark upon his flesh and the desire to stop the screaming,  _ **tear her throat out and make her SHUT UP**_ _._  Blood on his lips, the tang of copper fanning across his tongue; it was probably his own but he savored the taste anyway.

Several feet ahead of him her footsteps were beginning to falter, and his lips twisted into a demonic grin that was not his own. He was closing in on his quarry! Wouldn't Master be so very proud?

Another few feet and her energy evaporated, sending her crashing to the ground in a pile of dry leaves.

And then he was upon her, cutting off her incessant screeching with a backhand that stole her voice. " _ **Silence** _ _. _ " The sibilant hiss wasn't his, either, but he was long past his foolish aversion to having Master inside him, crammed into his skull and pushing the worthless fragments of himself to the side.

Tears coursed down her cheeks as she gasped for breath; her pupils shrunk to fearful pinpricks. "Dipper, I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry."

_ **Meddling creature. Tear her throat out. Shut her up forever** _ _. _

The horrified girl sobbing in the pile of leaves before him, who he now recognized as his sister, looked up at him miserably. "This isn't you," she whimpered. "Please wake up. Wake up!"

**_Do it_** **.**   ** _Now, Pi_** ** _ne Tree._**

"Yes, Master," Dipper intoned, then leaned forward and sank his teeth into his sister's throat.

 

-

 

Dipper jolted awake, stumbling backwards. He managed to catch himself before hitting the ground, reaching out for the nightstand beside him. It took a second for him to realize that the wooden surface beneath his fingers wasn't that of his nightstand, but Mabel's.

It took another second to realize that he'd been standing over his sister's bed while she slept, blissfully unaware of his presence.

He took another step backwards, followed by another, after which his composure shattered entirely and he turned and ran for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it before sinking to the floor, tucking his knees beneath his chin and allowing the tears to dampen his pajama shorts. It was his mistake, to think he could snag even an hour of sleep without coming to regret it.

A few days had passed after his last encounter with Bill, during which the situation had worsened considerably. Whereas he'd managed to catch a few hours of rest before, he hadn't slept for over fourty-eight hours, rapidly approaching seventy-two. If the first night had been uncomfortable, the third day was utterly brutal. Looking in the mirror revealed a pale, sickly complexion with the dark semi-circles beneath his eyes having reappeared. Staying awake wasn't the difficult part; after the first three nightmares where he violently murdered his twin sister while she pleaded for him to wake up Dipper didn't particularly feel like sleeping, nor did he have much of an appetite.

When Bill mentioned upping the ante, the bastard wasn't kidding.

These nightmares were a different breed, no more yelling or emotional abuse but actual bloodshed, claws and fangs and brutality that he did not believe himself capable of, and yet they were vivid enough that he recognized his own hands and clearly heard a bastardization of his own voice speaking words of fealty to the monster currently residing in his head. Combined with the inescapable guilt from the nightmares, the sleepless nights, the stress gradually building to a crescendo and the side effects of the small bottle of caffeine pills he kept hidden beneath a stack of messily folded clothes in a drawer, he was steadily becoming the textbook definition of a nervous wreck.

"This isn't over, you asshole," he muttered, ignoring the dull ache flaring up in his wrist in response to the words. "Not yet."

He made a point of ignoring the obvious decrease in the confidence bolstering his determination.

A few more tears, huddled in the dark bathroom with his back against the door where his family couldn't see; then Dipper armed himself with a glass of water, an unassuming white pill, and one of the books plucked from his increasingly large stack of reference material and crawled back out onto the ledge to pass another sleepless night searching for a way out of the noose slowly drawing tight around his neck.

 

-

 

Mabel was worried.

Not that it was difficult to tell, given that subtlety wasn't her forte, but this was a palpable sense of apprehension that seemed to be having an effect on everyone around her, including Dipper, who already had enough stress on his plate without having to worry about his sister tearing her hair out over him.

Despite his best efforts to shake her off or play at simply being tired or moody or something less serious than facing being abducted by a sociopathic dream demon, Mabel  _hovered_ , putting the very concept of a helicopter parent to shame. She'd ceased sleeping over at any of her friends' houses, even Pacifica's, which was telling as she never missed an opportunity to bask in the almost sickening excess of Northwest Manor. She opted to spend her nights at the Mystery Shack following Dipper around and suggesting any number of activities meant to either keep him from self-isolating whenever he wasn't working in the gift shop or doing some kind of mind-numbing labor (tasks that required little effort more than either rote memorization or physical activity and could therefore be accomplished through the magic of caffeine) or trying to convince him to engage in  _group_  activities.

It was simultaneously endearing and frustrating and it only served to remind him of just how much he loved his weird sister and sketchy grand uncle and whatever roles Soos and Wendy played in their extended family. The thought of being dragged away from them didn't help his flagging morale in the slightest.

Mabel wasn't just persistent; she was, as in all things,  _creative_. Her intervention methods ranged from the obvious to the glaringly obvious.

"Hey Dipper, that dumb ghost show you like is on!"

"That's okay, it's probably a rerun."

"Yo Dippin' Dot, I'm pretty sure I saw a chupacabra outside! You wanna go catch it?"

"That's very unlikely given that most sightings of the chupacabra have been centered in either Central America or areas closer to Mexico. Also that's probably not a good idea."

"Oh my god Dipper, guess what?"

"Is it life-threatening?"

"...um..."

"End of the world kind of scenario?"

"Not really..."

"We can talk about it later, okay? I'm kind of busy."

In retrospect, it was one of the only times he could remember Mabel saying the expletive that followed.

It was paradoxically difficult yet relatively easy to evade her efforts. The dreams had left him uneasy around her for too long, and coupled with how physically tired he was simply saying 'no' wasn't as hard as it could have been. The difficulty came in seeing her face just before she turned away, alongside the knowledge that he was the reason for the sharp turn her summer vacation was taking.

When singular attempts yielded no results Mabel lost her head and began dragging the other members of the Shack into her schemes; Dipper imagined it wasn't that difficult given that Stan, Soos, Wendy, and even a couple of his other varying friends were now fully aware of the fact that he didn't seem to be doing too well. Wendy's concern came in the form of suggested rides to awesome places now that she had her own mode of transportation, Soos' involved potential shenanigans that a happier version of Dipper would have jumped at, and strangest of all was steady decline in the amount of unpleasant tasks Stan threw in his direction. Chasing errant wildlife out of the Shack fell to the duo of Mabel and Soos, and the day Dipper walked down the stairs only to be greeted at the sight of Wendy sweeping the floor and restocking shelves instead of slacking off behind the counter resulted in his missing the last step altogether.

Tonight's elaborate stunt was a step up from all the others, and Dipper was honestly impressed. Upon entering the kitchen he was assaulted with the decadent aroma of unhealthy, artery-clogging junk food. And there was a  _lot_  of it. He suspected Pacifica (who'd turned out to make a good, if sometimes infuriating friend) and her credit card may have been involved, because the soda on the counter was actual soda instead of the offbrand carbonated sugar water Stan usually bought, and there was a random plate of petit-fours. Those definitely weren't from the local grocery store. He also wasn't entirely sure those were purchased with him in mind.

What made the scene even stranger was that this time it wasn't just Mabel and Soos or Mabel and Wendy, but the entire Shack crew. Standing in the doorway he took in the sight of their grand uncle gazing at food that wasn't marked down or slightly past the sell by date with something that resembled actual lust in his eyes, Wendy snapping pictures that he was sure were on their way to some social media outlet, and Mabel and Soos standing over a plate of things that didn't need to be fried preparing to fry them anyway. The old Dipper wouldn't have hesitated for more than a second before joining in whatever the hell was going on.

Now it took all of his self-control not to turn tail and run from the glaring reminder that all of this was transitory.

Mabel turned around, holding a spatula covered in batter. "Hey little bro! You're just in time for Epic Meal Time with Mabel, Soos, and these other slackers that aren't actually helping!"

Wendy didn't bother looking up from her phone. "I  _am_  helping. This is advertising. On Instagram. It's a thing."

"I hate to break it to you but that name is already a thing, too," Dipper pointed out.

"Not until I see the copyright papers!" Mabel retorted. "Also we're not really recording this because we never replaced the camcorder after that incident with the lake and that giant crab monster last year, remember?"

Dipper did remember, if only because he'd avoided eating anything that lived in the water for half a year afterwards.

"So you remember the deep fried Oreos? And the deep fried deep fried Oreos?" Mabel waved her spatula emphatically. "It's well known that there is a deep frying curve. The initial process renders a superior product that is then sullied by a second treatment should one be applied."

Dipper made eye contact with Wendy, who just shook her head and shrugged. He had a feeling neither she or Stan cared one way or the other what Mabel was doing as long as it lured him back into the light.

"What my assistant and I are proposing," Mabel continued, in the authoritarian tone of someone who wasn't simply talking about frying cookies, "is a third level that restores the quality of the initial product following the second...um...fryification!"

"Trust her on this one," Soos added, nabbing one of the unbattered cookies and inhaling it. "Man, these really are better with real Oreos."

"Would you do us the honor of assisting us in this undertaking?" Mabel pumped her fist triumphantly. "Science, Dipper. Science  _and_  cookies."

Despite the cheery and chaotic tableau the scene in the kitchen created, there was a heavy amount of tension in the air. Further inspection revealed that Wendy's preoccupation with her phone was a clever facade; she kept glancing up at him with an unfamiliar expression of concern. Stan wasn't  _really_  paying attention to the food (or at least entirely; some of that awe had to be genuine). Soos' smile didn't reach his eyes, and Mabel's was so clearly forced that it was offputting instead of welcoming. They were all trying their hardest to reach out to him, worrying about his well-being _..._

Perhaps he  _did_  deserve to be dragged off by Bill after all, for being a terrible person.

Staring at the floor so as not to see the expression on his sister's face shift the moment she heard his rejection, he took a deep breath and lied. It was becoming a habit. "Sorry, guys. I'm kinda tired. Just save some for me for later."

Then he did cut and run, heading up to their room so he could lock himself in the bathroom until the guilt or the strings or both stopped constricting his heart to point where it left him nauseous and dizzy. Or maybe it was the caffeine pills. He couldn't tell anymore.

As he left, he heard something that sounded like a soft sob. It was Mabel's voice.

 

-

 

When she found him later that night, sitting in the patch of moonlight streaming through the triangular window in their room, her face was puffy and her eyes were red and it was clear that she'd spent a good deal of time crying. She shut the door behind her, leaning against it with her arms folded over her chest and staring at him intently. Dipper looked away. "Everything is fine. I just wasn't hungry earlier."

"Oh  _bullshit_!" Mabel snapped, marking the second occurrence of her swearing over the past month. "Everything is not fine, Dipper! You haven't been yourself in weeks!"

The side effects of the mild caffeine overdose had yet to fade, and it was taking its toll on his patience. There was an edge to his tone as he replied, continuing to look at anything else but her. "I'm just stressed out, okay? Stop freaking out about it." That wasn't very nice, and had he been watching her he'd have seen her flinch. So he did his best not to.

"Please...just  _talk_  to me. No matter what it is." Mabel pleaded. "I'm here and I'm not going away. Please let me help."

He wanted to. He wanted to tell her and Stan everything so they could hold on to his hands and help him figure out how to avoid Bill plucking him out of his old life with very little effort. They were offering a lifeline, and his hands twitched of their own accord at the thought.

Then he remembered the cuts beneath the bandage on his arm that never stopped aching, and the sensation of cold tendrils wrapping themselves around his neck and choking his words back down his throat, and shuddered.

Dipper stood up, turning to the window and heading for the ledge. "I don't want to talk about it. Anyway we're leaving in a couple of weeks so why don't you go hang out with your own friends?"

Mabel's voice was uncharacteristically cold when she finally responded. "Whatever, Dipper."

She slammed (not shut, actually slammed) the door behind her and stormed off, her purposefully heavy footsteps receding in her departure.

She didn't come back that night, but Dipper stayed outside anyway.

 

-

 

By the time the sixth day rolled around, the night after his brief fight with Mabel, Dipper was almost at the end of his rope in every sense of the word. The steady doses of caffeine pills, sheer force of will and few minutes of sleep prior to being awakened by a nightmare were no longer enough to combat the full-bodied weariness that had settled over him. Instead of dulling his senses the way he imagined such a long period of sleep deprivation would he found himself jittery, irritable, and lacking much in the way of coordination.

He also was beginning to see things that may or may not have been there, things that crept and slid along the sides of his periphial vision like luridly coloured snakes. They always vanished when he tried to get a good look at them, leaving him wondering whether they were the result of his advanced state of exhaustion or Bill fucking with him. Both options were equally plausible, but it was far less troubling to blame it on Bill than confront the possibility of him losing it.

Mabel hadn't made a reappearance since the night before, relegating Dipper to a bit of restocking in the gift shop (while trying to ignore Wendy's tense gaze burning holes in the back of his skull). It wasn't too difficult to brush it off considering that his hands were trembling so badly that just carrying merchandise was a chore that required full concentration...which unfortunately didn't amount to much at this point.

Thus a box of decorative plates with the Mystery Shack logo printed on them met their end after Dipper lost his footing and hit the ground pretty hard. "Shit!"

A hand gripped his forearm, and a moment of panic shot through him before he realized that it was Stan helping him up. "Dipper, you okay?"

Dipper sighed, looking down at the wreckage. "I'm sorry Grunkle Stan, I..."

His granduncle shook his head. "Eh, don't worry about it. I've got a million of 'em." He slapped Dipper on the back (nearly sending him sprawling again) with a hearty laugh. "Always buy in bulk. And from potentially shady suppliers that offer really good deals in exchange for a simple blood sample."

"Mr. Pines, that sounds  _really_  illegal," Wendy piped up from the other side of the room.

"Yeah Grunkle Stan, you might be on an FBI watchlist by now."

This possibility didn't seem to perturb his grand uncle in the slightest. "Kids, it's only illegal if someone sees you doing it."

'Or finds digital transaction records,' Dipper thought inwardly, but he kept that to himself. He leaned down to start collecting the larger pieces of broken ceramic, but Stan blocked his path with the walking stick he employed in his Mr. Mystery getup. "Your sister'll clean it up later. I was thinking about closing up early today anyway."

Dipper's heart skipped a beat; not out of excitement, but because Grunkle Stan  _never_  closed up early. He was notorious for ignoring adverse weather conditions, paranormal disasters, and even illness in favor of draining the last drop of money out of the short-sighted tourists more than willing to throw it away. If his beloved swindler of a granduncle was letting go of those remnants of profit it meant something serious was going on. "Why? What's wrong?"

Stan glanced over his shoulder at Wendy, then gently steered Dipper past the racks of merchandise and displays. "We need to talk."

Dipper didn't like the sound of that at all.

The position of the sun indicated that it was a little after noon, which was even more troubling. Dipper settled onto a wooden stool next to Stan's chair on the porch, watching his granduncle seat himself beside him. He'd never really paid attention to it before, but for all his antics Stan really wasn't the spry young man he often made himself out to be. The brief moment of awareness that Grunkle Stan was sort of old (not too old, but definitely on the latter end of middle-aged) sort of hurt in a way Dipper didn't fully understand.

They lapsed into an awkward silence, with Stan making just as much of an effort to avoid making eye contact as he was. Maybe it was a family trait. "I'm not good at this," Stan muttered.

"I think it runs in the family," Dipper sighed, which got a smile out of Stan at least

"So," Stan said, clearly ill at ease and fumbling for the right words. "You know, I've gotten used to having you and your sister around every summer. I actually really look forward to it, and I guess I kinda... _miss_  you when you leave." His eye twitched. "For a little while. It's too quiet around here."

Ordinarily Dipper would have been thrilled at the admission, but now it just left a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"What I'm trying to say is..." Stan groaned, finally looking over at his grandnephew with an expression that Dipper had never seen him wear. It was unbearably somber, and he resisted the urge to just run away. "I love you. I don't say it a lot, but I'm glad I got the chance to get to know you two. You're like the grandkids I never had. That's why I want you to take the rest of the summer off."

Dipper froze, horrified. "I'm fine, I'm just a little-"

Stan rolled his eyes. "Kid, you look like you haven't slept in a week."

"It's just insomnia!" Dipper's voice was louder than he intended, but he was on the verge of panicking. The remaining threads of normality keeping him upright while trying to fight off the demon's influence were snapping one by one, and with this new development it meant he could no longer pretend that the situation wasn't dire. He didn't want to be desperate, because desperation lead to poor decisions, and the last thing he needed was to give the bastard even more leverage. "I'm okay, I'm fine, I don't need any special treatment or anything, I'm just a little tired!"

"That's why I'm taking you off duty," Stan said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know what's going on and I can't make you talk to me about it. But if having the next couple of weeks to rest up will help then it's okay with me. Mabel's great with tours these days."

Dipper looked down at his hands, clasped together tightly to disguise the shaking. He didn't have anything to say.

"Besides, your parents would come up here and bury me in the woods if something happened to you," Stan joked, with a forced laugh that Dipper made no attempt to return. After a few seconds of resumed awkward silence he spoke up again, this time sounding a little less anxious with the  _emotional_  bits out of the way. "I promised Mabel we'd go into town for some of that overpriced ice cream from that place in the mall she keeps talking about. I think I need to have a talk with that guy at the counter." It wasn't an empty threat, and Dipper hoped the night didn't end in another visit to the county jail.

He was so very tired.

"I'm not up for the mall, Grunkle Stan," he said quietly, continuing to stare at his hands. The mark on his wrist was strangely benign, and he almost resented Bill even more for allowing him to focus fully on the conversation. A brief glance up at his grand uncle revealed that the expression from before had returned. Dipper couldn't stand any more people worrying about him. He stood up to head back inside, pausing at the prod in his side from Stan's elbow.

"Next year I'll have you on double shifts to make up for it," Stan announced, grinning. "I might not even pay you. How does that sound?"

Dipper graced him with a strained smile. "Sounds like the worst summer ever."

He entered the Shack, walked past Wendy without speaking, and headed back to his room where the ledge awaited. It was the only constant in his life that remained now.

 

-

 

Dipper was crying.

There were exactly twenty-seven books ranging from various collections of myths and folk tales to actual tomes regarding occult research, and  _none_  of them had the sequence of words or ingredients to sever the strings keeping him bound to Bill. He'd combed every inch of the journal, every single page with both his own eyes and the assistance of the black light, and they revealed no secrets that could help him. Even the section regarding Bill himself had proven unfruitful. His sister wasn't speaking to him, he'd been stripped of work around the Shack, and everyone was tiptoeing around him as if he were made of glass and the slightest word could make him shatter into a million pieces. The worst part was that they were right.

With the recesses of his confidence and courage slipping further and further out of his grasp he gave way to the fear that had loomed over him ever since Bill guided his hand with the knife. It wasn't the fear of death, because he doubted the demon would put him through so much hell just to kill him on the spot. The creeping horror closing around his heart like a vice had less to do with what he knew and more of what he  _didn't_  know. What was the Mindscape like? Would he age normally or be trapped as a fourteen-year old forever, however long forever lasted? A passing comment occurred to him them, something the demon had said offhandedly in the woods a few weeks back. Suddenly he wasn't really looking forward to the prospect of aging, and that sent a different kind of chill down his spine.

He regretted chasing Mabel off the night before. Even if he couldn't tell her what was wrong, just having her near would be comforting. He was deathly afraid of Bill making him hurt her somehow, but the dread was closing in and he needed his other half to unknowingly lie to him and tell him everything would be alright.

The other half that he'd be spending the rest of his life without.

The slowing tears began anew, his cap falling from his head onto the ledge as he curled in on himself. The impending separation anxiety was intolerable.

Hands combed through his hair in a sick mockery of affection, and their owner sounded absolutely gleeful at the sight of his prey wearing down. "Aww, what's with the waterworks, Pine Tree? Are things not going your way?"

He was bested, but not completely beaten, and a surge of residual anger rose up in his chest. "Get away from me," Dipper snapped, attempting to pull away; the action was halted by the man seizing his bandaged wrist and actually squeezing it. Dipper let out a sharp cry of pain.

"Let's tone down the insolence," the demon said lightly, but the unspoken warning was there. "Unless you need another reminder?"

Dipper took a deep breath, willing himself to keep from screaming. His left forearm was on fire, with the triangles beneath the bandage the epicenter of the nearly excruciating pain threatening to make him pass out altogether. "N...no thanks," he whispered, once he could speak again. "I'm good."

The action was apparently submissive enough for Bill, who released his hold on him; Dipper cradled his injured arm against his chest protectively. There wasn't really anywhere to run, and there really wasn't a point, so he remained where he was.

Bill sighed. "I thought you'd be glad to have so much free time to reflect on how pointless this little war you insist on waging is. It's not like you're going to spend it  _sleeping_ ..."

Dipper massaged his sore arm, seething quietly. He repeated it in his head several times a day, and it was a sentiment that never truly faded, but  _damn_  did he hate Bill Cipher.

"By the way, how do you like the nightmares? I worked pretty hard on them!" A hand beneath his chin, cool leather against his skin, tilting his head up so he could look into that single golden eye glittering with evil intent. "Anything for you, Pine Tree."

Dipper flinched. He was too stricken with terror to try to pull away, but the thought of the demon touching him in any capacity was nauseating. "Don't," and it came out in a pathetic whine that he would have been embarrassed by under any other circumstances.

A tiny dot of red flared up within the ring of gold, and Bill smirked at his protest. "You know, when I'm the only one you see every waking moment, you'll  _crave_  my touch."

A single tear escaped, sliding down his cheek and landing squarely in the palm of the demon's gloved hand. "Hey Pine Tree, I've got a joke! Wanna hear it?"

Dipper really didn't.

"What has two thumbs and is running out of time?" The wicked grin widened as the demon let go of his chin, raising his hand so Dipper could watch him lick the tear off his palm in a manner that was equal parts lewd and terrifying. "You. Tick tock."

The span of a blink, and he was gone again.

The moment he vanished Dipper crawled through the window, landing clumsily on the floor with his silly flagging motor skills. The words marched back and forth in his head,  _tick tock tick tock tick tock,_  the sounds of his remaining freedom slipping through his fingers. Reason and logic had now taken a backseat to full-blown desperation, and he gazed around the room for something,  _anything._  There were the useless books (who would return them, after he was gone?) and the journal, and a variety of other objects that could provide no escape or even serve as retaliation.

How bad would it be to just stop fighting? To just give in?

"No," he chided himself, unaware of his voice cracking. "Not yet."

He scanned Mabel's side of the room, hoping to find his miracle there. Nothing but craft supplies, spread over every inch of her half of the room. The X-acto knife had mysteriously vanished from where it sat before. That was a dark thought that he refused to embrace; besides, if Bill wasn't going to kill himself he damn sure wasn't going to let Dipper have the honors.

His breath hitched in his throat as his gaze landed on something of interest. Paper. Plain white paper and construction paper and fancy paper covered in glitter.  _Paper_.

He'd been taking notes on his condition, stuffing them between the pages of the journal, and he'd certainly written some things about that demonic asshole that he knew Bill wasn't aware of. He'd been so focused on actually speaking to her that he'd forgotten that vocalizations weren't the only means of communication. If Bill was monitoring what he  _said_  rather than what he wrote he could write a note to Mabel. He wasn't sure about handing it to her in person, but he could certainly leave it somewhere where she would find it.

He  _had_  to tell her, and Grunkle Stan, and hell even Soos and Wendy, and they could help him. They could keep Bill from taking him away.

He nabbed a piece of paper, deciding on an ugly yellow sheet of construction paper. He wasn't sure Bill was actually paying attention, especially after bothering him so recently. Probably not. To add to the potential subterfuge he also selected a red Prismacolor pencil. If Bill were only casually glancing in his direction he'd just see Dipper scribbling on a page of construction paper. Maybe if he was fast enough his actions could go unnoticed.

Dipper didn't waste any time dropping to the floor and beginning to write, in a messy scrawl that he prayed Mabel would be able to read. 'I need your help. Something happened to me that day I fell asleep in the woods a few weeks ago, and it's why I've been so weird recently. I can't talk about it out loud but I need you and Grunkle Stan to... _mind your own business and stay out of things that don't involve you._ '

His right arm moved of its own volition, firmly gripping the pencil and driving it into the hand holding the sheet of paper steady. The pencil wasn't sturdy enough to cause much damage before snapping in half, but it did leave a pretty serious gash that immediately welled up and began to bleed rather heavily.

The strings around his throat were unnecessary this time; the only sound that left his mouth was a sharp hiss of pain, followed by staring at the crimson fluid running down his fingers and staining the paper. Someone, something shoved him forward, looming over him and snatching the paper out of his hands.

"Oh, naughty Pine Tree," Bill drawled, replete with the otherworldy echo. He stared at the paper with his lips pressed together so tightly that they began to lose their color. "I gotta admit I'm impressed with your ingenuity, but you forgot something."

Dipper locked eyes with him, at the monster standing over him with the same wicked gleam in his eye as he had earlier that day, at a time that seemed like an eternity ago. For all his feigned joviality the point of intense red blossoming within that single eye was a clear indication that Dipper had made a serious mistake.

"I'm always watching," Bill said softly.

Dipper ran. He wasn't sure where he was running to, but any amount of distance he could put between himself and the enraged dream demon seemed like a really good idea right about now. He only made it a couple of feet before his failed him, turning him around and steering him right back into the waiting arms of the demon standing behind him. Bill grabbed his injured hand, gripping it tightly enough Dipper heard what sounded like a faint, organic  _crunch_ , and suddenly he couldn't feel his hand anymore, at least not in the sense that he should. It was still attached to him, he knew that much, but  _nothing_  had ever hurt as badly as this. What should have been a full-fledged shriek of agony remained trapped in his throat, forced back down by the ethereal strings digging into his skin.

"Maybe letting you keep these was a mistake," Bill sneered, and Dipper blanched, losing his head completely and struggling against the demon's grip on his possibly broken hand.

The door began to creak open.

Quick as a wink Dipper was alone again, tumbling onto the hardwood floor with a grunt of exertion. The pain in his injured hand diminished significantly, but the gash in the middle remained. The surprise winded him, during which Mabel entered the room with a heavy sigh. "Look, Dipper, I..." Her voice trailed off as she took in the confusing scene before her. "What happened? You're bleeding!"

Dipper grimaced, tearing his gaze away from the thin stream of blood coursing its way over the back of his hand. "It's...it's just an accident."

Mabel stared at him. Her face was ashen, and she seemed frozen in place, one hand firmly pressed against the door. When she did speak her voice was shaky. "Dipper..I found the X-acto knife. The one from before."

Dipper's eyes widened. "What?"

"I know you've been hurting yourself." Mabel sniffled. "Please talk to me. I won't know what's wrong if you don't tell me!"

Too much was happening at once, and it was beginning to overwhelm him. Whatever control he'd had over the situation had evaporated, and now he was flailing for a lifeline. "I....It's not..."

_Don't._   _This_   _doesn't_   _concern_   _her._

The headache reasserted itself, thundering at the base of his skull. Dipper gritted his teeth, struggling valiantly against his body's attempts at censorship. "I'm..."

_I am warning you, Pine Tree._

"I'm..." The strings tightened once more, constricting around his throat; unlike the other incidents this time they continued to draw shut, past the point of discomfort and on into the threat of actually being strangled. His hands flew up reflexively, running along his neck but it wasn't a physical, tangible tether and doing so did nothing to make it easier for him to breathe. Dipper fell forward again, clutching at his throat and gasping while staring Mabel with a pleading expression on his reddened face. Mabel took the hint instantly, dashing out of the room with her hair bouncing behind her in her wake. "Grunkle Stan!" Dipper heard her screaming from somewhere else in the house; there were other noises, pounding footsteps and assorted voices that he couldn't pinpoint shouting.

The ends of his consciousness blurred, dimmed, and then faded altogether.

 

-

 

He awakened in a dark forest.

As his consciousness slowly returned Dipper noticed something damp pressed against his cheek; upon further bleary inspection he realized that he was lying in a pile of wet leaves. When he raised his hand to brush a leaf clinging to forehead the absence of the bandage around his wrist and his steadily bleeding hand became apparent, as well as the dull ache associated with them. The triangles stood out in bold red relief against his pale skin, their outlines almost glowing.

He stood up, brushing the remaining leaves away with the hand that wasn't throbbing, and took a good look around. All of the trees were dead, their charred bark resembling that of the remnants of a forest fire. The grass beneath his feet was grey and withered. There was no heavenly body lighting the sky; instead a vast carpet of grey clouds stretched in all directions above his head. Black and grey and white and every shade in between.

It was unsettlingly familiar for a moment until he remembered why the monochrome was so troubling.

An equally familiar laugh rang out from behind him, and then Dipper knew  _exactly_  where he was. "Fuck."

He turned to face the figure standing no more than two or three feet away, ignoring his instinct to run. It hadn't done him any good thus far.

"Welcome to  _your_  new and improved dreamscape, kid!" Bill announced with a dramatic flourish."I decided to do a little redecorating! The complete lack of living matter's a nice touch, isn't it?"

Dipper frowned. "My dreamscape? I thought-"

"You have completely control while you're here?" The demon closed the distance between them, poking him in the forehead with his index finger. "Not anymore."

Dipper stumbled backwards; before he could lose his balance altogether several thick tendrils of black material burst from the ground and ensnared him, dragging him to his knees, looping around his neck, and binding his hands together. Straining against them resulted in the mark on his wrist erupting into a veritable hot coal searing into his skin, dissuading him from attempting to break loose.

Bill was circling him now with an appraising look in his eye. "So after that hilarious stunt you pulled earlier it occurs to me that  _maybe_  you don't fully understand who, or what I am. Which is totally my fault. I should just start showing up with severed heads again, you know? People took me seriously during that century when I just showed up holding the severed head of a relative whenever someone summoned me. It made a  _statement_ ."

He paused in front of Dipper, dropping to one knee and grabbing his chin so the teenager was forced to make eye contact with him. "Look. I make deals for fun. It's not some kind of requirement. I can give people what they want for free, or I can make them crawl for it. Half the time I only do the latter because it's so great watching you meatbags sacrifice everything for something trivial."

"Why?" It was a loaded question - why this, why me,  _why_ . It seemed so unfair to have no reason or justification at all for what he was going through.

Bill looked at him as if he was stupid. "Because I'm a demon? Don't let this body fool you. I clean up well when the mood hits, but that doesn't change  _what_  I am. And when I see something I want, I  _take_  it."

Dipper's stomach twisted into a knot; the words came out in a panicked rush. "But why do you want  _me_ ? Why not something I can actually give you? Like the journal, or-"

"If I still wanted that I'd have snatched it up and burned it right in front of you, Pine Tree. Page by page, just to watch the dismay on your face." The crimson dot of his pupil had now eclipsed his iris as well, and the teeth were back. Dipper moaned in revulsion.

"You...you're..."

"Evil, sociopathic, a homicidal maniac, take your pick," Bill said flippantly. "I've heard 'em all. I don't want that book, Pine Tree. I want  _you._  I want that curious, resourceful mind of yours that boldly pokes its way into the corners others instinctively avoid. I want your foolishly defiant heart that struggles against all odds, no matter how hard I try to squeeze the life out of it." The strings laced around his heart constricted, drawing a ragged gasp through his sore throat. Bill stroked his cheek affectionately, leaning in closer. "I want these eyes that dilate with terror and the pulse that quickens just below this fragile skin," something that felt like a claw prodded at the triangles on his wrist, only a fraction of a centimeter from sinking into the artery within, "that I could slice open  _oh_  so easily and watch you bleed out in front of me, begging for my mercy. I want to hear your voice screaming my name and my name alone in agony and ecstasy and devotion and everything in between because  _I_  am all you know. I want all of this and whatever else you have to offer, with an eternity explore what that might be."

Dipper was weeping in earnest, unable to speak anymore but also unable to tear his gaze away from the glowing red eye fixing him in place. "So I'm going to drag you down into the Mindscape with me where no one can find you, and we'll be together forever, just me and you. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Dipper shook his head, no, but that seemed to be the wrong answer as it only earned him another pang in his  chest  when  the  strings tightened  and  Bill's claws dug into his jaw. "It will be. You're mine, and you can't escape  it . Make the best of the time you have left. Because once it runs out you'll never see  any of  them again."

Not for the first time, nor the last, Dipper wished he'd  died  that day in the woods. It was a kinder fate than what he was facing now.

The claws receded, and for a moment the  expression  on the  demon's  face  was  almost genuinely caring. "Don't worry. I'll let you say goodbye. I'm not a complete jerk." 

Dipper's hateful gaze locked with his; the demon laughed and ruffled his hair. "Nah, I totally am, but give it a  century  or two and you'll grow to love it."

The tendrils vanished, allowing Dipper to collapse on the  forest  floor, coughing and trembling and wanting nothing more than to sink beneath the leaves where it was sweet and silent and Bill couldn't see him any longer.  "Speaking of which...I have a deal you might just be interested in."

Dipper remained seated, still staring at the ground listlessly. "I don't want anything you  have  to give me."

"Is  that  so?" Bill sounded amused. "How long do you think you can last without sleep? It's a biological imperative for you humans, after all."

It was a low blow. The idea of sleeping and just tuning out of reality for  awhile  was absolutely alluring, but he didn't want Bill to see just how desperate he was for a moment of oblivion.

"Don't you want to close  your  eyes? For just a minute?"

He did.

Well aware of the trap  laid  before him, Dipper raised his head. "...what's  the  catch?"

"There's no catch whatsoever!" Bill exclaimed. " It's  a freebie.  All  you have to do is ask."

There was  something  fishy about this -  _of course, it was Bill freaking Cipher_  - but the exhaustion was too much to bear. "That's it?"

"That's it." The demon smiled, no teeth or glowing eyes or other unsettling features  on  display. Dipper  _knew_  that this was a mistake, but he could lie to himself far better than his family.

"Fine," he said wearily.

Bill looked at him expectantly for a moment. "Wait, was  that  it? That's not going to cut it, Pine Tree. Complete sentences!"

Dipper bristled. "Let me sleep."

"What's  the  magic  _wo-ord_ ?"

"Please let me sleep." The words burned, as did the desperation they revealed, but  pride  took a backseat to need.

Bill folded his arms over his chest, sighing. "That was pathetic!"  he  groused. "Say it like you mean it."

"Please..." Dipper swallowed, looking up at him. "Let me sleep."

"I  dunno . I don't feel like you're taking this seriously." The demon turned on his heel and began to walk away, and Dipper shot up from where he sat, calling out  to  him.

"Wait!"

Bill paused.

Letting go of his pride altogether,  the teenager knelt,  lowering  his head. "Please let me sleep."

He heard the  demon  padding  through  the leaves, stopping in front of him. "That's a little better."

"Please?" Raw need crept  into  his voice, and the sound the demon made in response was  that  of wanton glee.

"I like it when you say it  like  that! Let's hear it again."

The  tears flowed again. Dipper didn't care. "Please... _please_  let me sleep." He broke down, his tired shoulders shaking with choked sobs that he made no effort to hide. This time he didn't flinch when the demon embraced him, stroking  his  hair again; he actually leaned into it, starved  for  comfort after the past couple of days of misery. It wasn't so bad.

"Good boy. Was  that really  so hard?"

Lips brushed against his brow, and everything - the pain and exhaustion and anxiety - grew hazy. The last thing he  remembered  before  sinking  into thankfully  dreamless  slumber was the  sensation  of those lips pressed against his. "Sleep well, Pine Tree. Soon you'll be with me and all of this will be just a bad dream."

 

-

 

This time he awakened to the ambient noise of machinery and the sharp aroma of antiseptic. There were no damp leaves clinging to his body or  the  musty smell of a steadily decaying forest, and  when  he opened his eyes the fluorescent  lights  were a dull yellow.

It was a hospital bed.

"Hey." Mabel's face floated into his line of sight. Her entire face was covered in soft red blotches and he imagined she now looked just as bad as he did. " Welcome  back."

Dipper sat up slowly. His left hand was wrapped in bandages and still ached, but the triangles  beneath  the bandage on his wrist were silent. The bandages  were  his own recent handiwork instead  of  fresh ones, and he  deeply  regretted that no one had bothered to take a peek at what they covered. Even if the staff that attended to him didn't understand Mabel would. "What happened?" His  throat  was uncomfortably dry; he  graciously  accepted the glass of water Mabel handed him, noting that his head felt much clearer and his hands were no  longer  shaking uncontrollably.

"You had a really bad anxiety attack,"  Mabel said  softly. "I was so scared. You wouldn't stop screaming and you were  having trouble  breathing. We had to bring you here so they could give you some medicine to calm you down."

"Oh." Dipper ran his good hand over the rail on the side of  the  bed, feeling the cold metal  beneath  his fingertips. The image of himself bowing before Bill crept up behind his eyes  whenever  he shut them for too long.

Mabel  leapt  up onto the bed, propriety forgotten as she embraced her brother, holding on for all she was worth. "I was so scared Dipper."

"I'm sorry." For many reasons.

Mabel  sniffled. "It's okay. You're okay now, right?"

"...right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...poor Dipper is losing it. It's kind of inevitable at this point.


	9. Dipper's Last Stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm sorry in advance.

If there was a silver lining to being trapped in a hospital bed, any silver lining at all, it was that for the next fourty-eight hours Bill left him alone. It was the first time in weeks that he was able to sleep without dreaming about violently murdering his sister, and he took full advantage of the opportunity.

It was a far better use of his time than being awake.

Making deals with Bill Cipher  _always_  had consequences, and apparently so did his so-called freebies. The demon had seemingly given him the chance to rest in exchange for nothing save for a half-assed act of fealty, but after a full day of being nauseated every time he recalled the events in his dreamscape Dipper was pretty sure that the price he'd paid for Bill's gift was a wealth of guilt, laden with equal parts shame and mild self-loathing. From a logical standpoint asking ( _begging, you dropped to your knees in front of him and begged like a dog_ ) for something as valuable as being allowed to sleep seemed entirely worth the blow to his pride. It stung, but he really appreciated being able to think clearly once more.

On the other hand, recalling kneeling before the triumphant demon and crying pathetically, leaning into his touch instead of recoiling turned his stomach, and more than once he'd actually vomited.

He suspected that part of  _that_  was due to the medication.

The door creaked open, bringing with it someone that he was both thrilled and terrified to see: Mabel. She looked a good bit more settled than she had when he was first admitted, having gotten some sleep herself in the chair next to his bed -- she refused to leave his side and the hospital staff didn't push it. Dipper was glad to have her near, but her presence only served as a constant reminder that he was going to lose her, probably in the very near future.

He could neither outsmart nor overpower the demon nestled into his head and whose claws were now embedded into his body, in both the literal and figurative sense. One way or the other, with his head bowed or kicking and screaming, he was going with Bill.

His sister closed the door behind her, peering out through the window before running over to him. The bulge under her sweater implied that she had something with her that she shouldn't have.

"Hey Dippin' Dot! Surprise!" Mabel pulled out an innocuous brown paper bag and dropped it in his lap. "I know the food here is super gross, so I brought you some contraband!"

Dipper stared at the bag with disinterest. His appetite had yet to resurface, even with the looming threat of the flat, circular pill that made his stomach twist into an agonizing knot when taken without eating first.

Was there food in the Mindscape? Would he even need to eat? Would he miss food? A wave of regret washed over him at the thought of never eating again. It was such an unnatural notion that he really couldn't wrap his head around it. He was sure he'd miss food. Hot dogs, completely covered in ketchup and mustard and relish. Cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers with  _bacon_. Pancakes. God, would he miss pancakes.

Maybe he didn't have to give up pancakes.  _If you just ask Bill nicely...maybe_   _he'll let you have whatever you want..._

"Shit," he muttered to himself under his breath, then realized that Mabel was talking to him.

"You have to eat something or you'll get sick again." Her hands clutched the hem of her sweater, twisting it into a multicolored rope. "Please?"

Something about the way she voiced the request struck a raw nerve; it was the desperation. Of course. He couldn't stand to see her in pain, and neither could she in regards to him. With a deep sigh of resignation, he dug into the paper bag, finding a couple of tacos - from the place in town that used actual recognizable meat. On any other day this miraculous occurrence would have lifted his spirits considerably. Now he simply nibbled at the food with little enthusiasm. It tasted like sawdust.

Mabel either didn't notice or made a point of ignoring his hesitance, hopping up into the chair beside him. "Thanks."

Dipper swallowed. He didn't look at her.

Mabel hummed a few bars of something, swinging her legs back and forth. "The doctor says you can come home tomorrow," she announced. "They just wanted to monitor your vital signs for awhile."

This wasn't necessarily good news, and the lump in his throat made it harder to continue eating. Was he safer in the hospital? Would Bill risk just nabbing him in a public place where his absence would become apparent rather quickly?

Of course he would.  _When I see something I want, I take it_. Surely hospital security wasn't going to stand in the way of that level of confidence and conviction.

Dipper's shoulders slumped.

"We cleaned up and got all your favorite food and everything!" Mabel continued, feigning a brightness that he was certain was an incredible strain. "And Grunkle Stan's closing the Shack up for the next week so you don't have to worry about tourists getting in the way."

Dipper stopped eating altogether, staring at the remaining half of his taco.

He felt Mabel's hand on his shoulder. "Please say something, Dipper. You haven't spoken for the past two days."

What would Mabel do with him gone? What would he do without  _her_?

"Dipper..."

"I'm sorry." The words were whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked after remaining trapped in his throat for nearly two days straight.

Mabel's hair brushed against his cheek, soft and smelling of strawberry shampoo. "You don't have to apologize. You haven't done anything wrong."

It was true. "I know."

As his sister held him while he cried, Dipper had the ominous feeling that it was the last time she'd do so.  
  


-

 

Unlike his hospital stay, there was no silver lining to returning to the Mystery Shack whatsoever. 

Perhaps this wasn't necessarily true, but with the pessimistic funk he'd slid into Dipper wasn't capable of appreciating any of the measures his family had taken to pull him out of the hole he'd buried himself in.

During the three days spent away from home he had a slew of visitors, ranging from Wendy's friends (including Robbie), Pacifica, and of course Soos and Wendy themselves. Stan actually divided his time between attending to the Shack with help from his remaining two employees, and Mabel essentially lived there for the duration of his time in the hospital. It was unorthodox, but she refused to go leave his side for long and pitched such a fit that she nearly had to be sedated herself. It was easier to let her stay past visiting hours than end up feeding two emotionally unstable teenagers Xanax.

Once he finally started talking again, it was only a few words at a time, mostly because it required effort to break through the haze the anxiety medication left him in. It managed to keep him calm in the face of everything happening around him, at least, but being torn between desiring mental clarity and blissful apathy was a struggle in itself.

Returning to the Shack threw all of that out of the window.

It was so very hard to resist walking around and touching things - the walls, posters, surfaces in general in an attempt to memorize the sensation of having them beneath his fingertips, or stuffing himself senseless on everything in the kitchen. Watching his favorite shows back to back for hours, reading every novel he hadn't read, spending every waking moment talking to Soos and Wendy and Stan and Mabel, so he could remember their faces and voices when his memories began to yellow and curl at the edges.

He didn't think about his parents; or rather, he steadfastly refused to think about them. He doubted he'd see them again in person.

Perhaps this was what people on Death Row felt, suddenly filled with the knowledge that they were leaving everything behind. So he rejected any offers of companionship, citing side effects from the pills he'd stopped swallowing the moment everyone foolishly trusted him to take on his own, and holed up in his room. He did leave the house once to return all the books from the library; he didn't need them anymore. Aside from that bit of initiative on his part, he began the mental process of cutting ties.

The one good thing that came of this emotional turmoil was the solidifying of something that had been nagging at him for the past two weeks, ever since he'd taken the knife to his arm. He  _hated_  Bill. Not in the weak sense denoting mere distaste, but actual, crystallized hatred that felt heavy in his chest whenever he thought about the demon; it made it hard to breathe and sent his hands curling into fists so tightly clenched that his knuckles paled and his fingernails dug into his palms.

Sure, he was now deathly afraid of him and his potential, but Dipper vowed that he would  _never_  bow before him again. Not willingly. And if ever a chance came where he found himself able to overpower him, he'd do so without hesitation; he'd  _kill_  him if the opportunity arose. The moments where he found himself fantasizing about tearing the demon's heart from his chest (if he had one), grinning unhinged up at the consternation on the selfish bastard's face...they may have been disturbing, but Dipper was beginning to believe that it was entirely justified.

That spark of hatred served as a lifeline.

When the sense of despair bogged him down too much and left him sitting on the side of his bed, staring at nothing while dark thoughts traipsed their way through his head, it was that one emotion that managed to push its way through the others. Bested clearly, but not beaten. And when the inevitable happened, as he'd now come to accept, and the strings laced throughout his being tugged him down into the darkness...

...even if hope dissolved, hatred would keep him afloat.

 

-

 

Even though the rest of the members of the Shack sensed that he wanted to be left alone, albeit reluctantly, Mabel completely ignored social protocol. Granted, it was her room too so he really couldn't kick her out, but she became a damn near constant presence, bringing him food and making sure he ate at least once a day, sending Waddles over to curl up at his side while she sat on the other and worked on some knitting project. It appeared to be a scarf, a particularly long one with an odd color scheme. 

To her credit, his normally loud and boisterous sister was fairly reserved; it was the longest amount of time he'd ever seen Mabel go without yelling or bouncing or rolling over laughing uproariously. She merely stayed near him, like a sole ray of sunshine slipping through the window and warming him. It hurt  _so_  much having her near, but after the couple of days he acquiesced to what his heart wanted and began to appreciate her presence for as long as it lasted. It was a little odd for her to stay focused on one task for so long (babysitting him, apparently), but given everything that had happened thus far...

There was also the fact that he hadn't been faced with any awkward confrontations with Bill since before being admitted to the hospital, whether that was due to the demon trying to avoid outside interference or merely giving him his space for the time being. He chalked it up to the former, given how adamant the demon was regarding not telling any of the other inhabitants of the Shack about his intentions. Still, he knew good and damn well that it wouldn't last forever.

Around the end of the third day of isolation Mabel temporarily returned to form, leaping off her bed and racing over to Dipper's side of the room with an armful of whatever she'd been working on.

"Dipper, look!"

Dipper lifted his head, only to find a long strip of knitted fabric wrapped around his neck. "It's a twin scarf!" Mabel said, excited; the scarf was long enough to drape over her neck as well. "I know 'sibling scarf' sounds better, but sometimes you  have to go with accuracy over style."

He opened his mouth to ask about the reasoning behind the name, then closed it after getting a good look at the bars of color. Part of the scarf, the part wrapped around his neck, was a vivid wash of bright hues - pink and purple and lime green and cerulean, in no particular order.

Mabel's half was pristine compared to the chaos of Dipper's half - only a few colors in bars that repeated a familiar pattern: blue,  white,  grey, orange, darker blue... 

Mabel grinned, seating herself about a foot away from him; even at that distance the lengthy scarf linked them together.

"It's too long to be a one person scarf," she explained, running her hand over the fringe trailing from her end (Dipper's was tassels made from some form of metallic thread instead of basic fringe - it was  _so_  Mabel). "So we can share!"

"Mabel, we live in California." Dipper pointed out, shaking his head. "When does it ever get cold enough to need a scarf?"

"It's a  _fashion statement_ ," Mabel huffed. "Anyway, it's not meant for cold weather. See?"

As she launched into a lengthy explanation about the difference between a lightweight scarf and a heavier one, Dipper tuned her out, opting to inspect the fabric encircling his neck and falling over his right shoulder. It was clear that a lot of work and heart had gone into it, the way she approached everything.

Of everything he was leaving behind, Dipper knew that he'd miss his twin most of all.

"...it's like us," Mabel said softly. "No matter what happens, we'll always be connected somehow."

The solemn manner with which she said those words caught Dipper's attention. Mabel didn't do solemn. He looked up at her, trying to meet her gaze, but for once  _she_  looked away instead.

At that moment Stan's voice rang out from below. "Mabel, can you come here for a second?"

Mabel sighed, unwrapping the scarf and laying the rest in his lap. "I'll be back later, okay?"

Dipper nodded, then watched her leave, dragging her heels reluctantly. Once she was out of sight he hugged her half of the scarf to his chest, and dozed off in the afternoon sun streaming through the window.

When he woke up again a few hours later (either having not dreamed at all or having no recollection of it if he had), she still wasn't back. He yawned, sitting up stiffly and regretting not crawling into bed before going to sleep instead of just curling up where he was. As Dipper fully regained consciousness, he became aware of the hazy quality of the light in the room. Not quite grey, but shaded, like an old photograph. It was comforting, somehow, as was the warm body that now pressed against his, pulling him into an almost uncomfortably tight embrace -- less of a hug and more of being trapped. He immediately knew who it was and instinctively cringed, but made no attempt to pull away. 

"Hello, Sleeping Beauty," Bill crooned in a nauseatingly sweet voice; Dipper resisted the urge to gag. 

"How long have you been here?" he asked, tired.

"Long enough." The demon tightened his grip slightly, constricting around him in an almost serpentine manner. "I've been so very patient, just watching. Just for you, dear Pine Tree." He sighed. "And you're not even making use of the gift I've so generously given you."

"You mean the one I had to get on my knees and beg for?" Dipper muttered darkly. 

"But you're so  _good_  at it!" Bill said maliciously, staring down at him with his razor-edged teeth on display. " _However_ , I'm referring to your stubborn refusal to enjoy the remaining time you have left with them. Don't you want to give them some peace of mind?" 

Dipper lowered his head to the best of his ability; it was rather difficult to do so with one of the demon's arms wrapped around his neck and the other over his chest. "I can't. It's not that easy."

"Sure it is."

"No, it  _isn't_ ," Dipper snapped. "You don't get it. You don't know what it's like to be torn away from everything and everyone you care about." His voice cracked. "If...if you did, you wouldn't do this to me. So stop pretending to care about me ormy feelings."

"That wouldn't stop me." A faint tug, and Dipper unwillingly lifted his head to meet the demon's gaze, shuddering at the expression of possessive longing Bill was watching him with. "Just because I want you for myself doesn't mean I  _don't_  care about your feelings. I just don't value them over my own." 

"I hate you," Dipper hissed, seething, consequences be damned. "I  _hate_  you." 

The demon's teeth gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. "Does it matter? You're still mine."

In his emotionally exhausted state, anger gave way to hopelessness and apathy rather quickly. Dipper finally went limp, allowing the demon to pull him closer, threading gloved fingers with his and stroking his hair lovingly for what seemed like hours until he thankfully dozed off again, grateful for the reprieve afforded by unconsciousness. 

 

-

 

When he awakened again, inexplicably tucked in his bed beneath the covers, the sunlight had faded; there was no moonlight streaming through the window and the soft plink of raindrops against the glass. Mabel still hadn't returned. Maybe she'd taken his advice and gone to spend some time with her friends before they left. Before  _she_ left. 

_Is there rain in the Mindscape?_

The thought formed a lump in his throat. He'd never appreciated something like rain before. It was nice to read to, holed up in his room with a good book, and he understood the ecological importance of certain weather effects, but the old adage (and frequent song lyric) was proving true more and more often with every passing hour and grain of sand left in the glass. You don't know what you've got til' it's gone.

Dipper pushed the blanket aside. He didn't want to adhere to any of Bill's advice, but if this was one of the last times he'd have the chance to feel rain soaking his clothes and creating wonderful mud beneath his feet and drenching his hair he knew he had to take it. 

He left his shoes behind; he wanted to feel the mud against his skin and between his toes. He and Mabel had spent a great deal of time playing in mud whenever they got the chance as kids, and although he was now 14 and way past the age of mud fights it would still be nice to experience it once more. 

The Shack was mostly silent save for the rain outside, but as he made his way downstairs Dipper picked up the low murmur of voices. He slowed his pace, creeping along the wall until just outside the kitchen - he didn't want to attract any attention. Here in the hallway he could clearly hear Mabel and Stan having a conversation; he was prepared to ignore it and sneak on by when Stan's voice caught his attention. "Do you want to tell him?"

Mabel sighed. "No. You should."

Three guess as to who 'him' was. Dipper bristled for a second before reminding himself it was unjustified. Of course they were worried about him. 

"You know I didn't have a choice, sweetie." The scrape of wood against the floor; it sounded as if one of them had stood up. Mabel sniffled. 

"I know."

Stan's tone was dismal in a way that Dipper had never heard before. "I don't like it either, but it's probably for his own good."

"Do you really believe that?"

A minute passed before Stan spoke again. "No. But it's out of my hands."

"...we can do it together, Grunkle Stan."

Curiosity overrode his desire for privacy, as well as a sense of foreboding, and Dipper casually strolled into the kitchen. As expected Stan was hugging a softly weeping Mabel. "Hey."

Mabel pulled back, startled, and she and Stan donned twin expressions of guilt. Mabel audibly swallowed, wiping at her eyes with the hem of her sweater. "Oh! Hey Dipper! Um...were you..."

Lying didn't seem like a useful course of action, so Dipper nodded. "Yeah, I was."

Mabel froze like a deer in headlights; noticing her reaction Stan reached over to hug her again. "Your parents are on the way up, Dipper. They should be here sometime tomorrow."

As usual, Dipper matched his twin, also freezing in place. "What?"

"They're coming to pick us up instead of us riding back on our own," Mabel chimed in. 

"Why?"

Mabel faltered, looking up at Stan helplessly. "Um...because..."

"Look kid, it's a pretty nice place. That Northwest girl had some connections and managed to get you set up somewhere expensive." Stan smiled, weakly. "They probably have caviar in the cafeteria. You should smuggle some out."

" _What_  place?" Dipper ground out between his teeth. He had a pretty good idea, but he wanted confirmation so he could justify the simmering pot of betrayal threatening to overflow within him. 

This time Mabel spoke up, still hugging Stan so tightly that he had to be having trouble breathing by now. "Another hospital. But a good one! Pacifica's family-"

"A  _psych ward._ " Dipper spat. "You can call it what it is."

Mabel flinched, but true to form she soldiered on. "It's just three days, Dipper. It's just to make sure you'll be okay after last week. It-"

"I'm FINE!" Dipper shouted, pounding his fist against the wall behind him. "Just leave me alone!"

Stan drew his grandniece closer following Dipper's outburst, protectively. "No you're not," he said firmly. "But you will be. And we're all here for you."

"We're only doing this because we love you," Mabel said quietly, and Dipper's heart broke. 

"Stop it," he hissed. "Stop reminding me of what I have to lose!"

As he turned on his heel to run back upstairs he heard Mabel calling out after him, Stan holding her back. "Just give him some space for awhile."

Dipper ran. It wasn't as if it would do him any good, but he ran anyway. 

 

-

 

Upon reaching the attic he slammed the door, dropping to the floor beside his bed. His fingernails dug into his forearms (the triangles were alight again, a light sting instead of severe pain) as he wrapped his arms around his stomach. "Shit," he muttered, looking around wildly. "Shit, shit,  _shit_."  

_Tick tock, Pine Tree._

Dipper seized the hair on either side of his head, trembling. "Shut up."

_You should have gone outside for the last time when you had the chance instead of poking around. But that's how you got into this, isn't it?_

"No. No no no." The words were rapidly becoming a mantra. "No."

_Yes._ He could envision the demon grinning at him in that sadistic manner.  _One more day. I can't wait._

"NO!" Dipper shouted again; he was cut short by the door creaking open. Mabel entered the room, shutting the door behind her. 

"Dipper," she said, sadly. He looked up at his sister, then back at the floor.

"Did you know?" 

Mabel walked over to him, sitting down beside him. Dipper could tell she wanted to hug him but he evaded the contact, ignoring the hurt expression on her face. "I didn't find out until yesterday," she admitted. "When we had to take you to the hospital for your anxiety attack last week they contacted Mom and Dad about your health insurance. Grunkle Stan had to tell them what happened and they freaked out and called the hospital and..." Her voice wavered. "I'm sorry."

"They're coming here?" Dipper was beginning to panic again.

"They wanted to take you themselves. I'll come too, they just..."

"So I can say goodbye," Dipper finished. 

"You won't be there forever." Mabel sounded determined, and this time she successfully embraced him despite his attempts to move away. "It's just a few days, and we can come visit you, and I'll sneak in whatever you want..."

"Wrong," Dipper mumbled to himself. "This is wrong, this is all wrong, I didn't do anything to deserve this."

Mabel completely misconstrued the statement. "They saw your hand, and they saw the bandages on your arm."

"No no no." Dipper was almost completely unaware of his surroundings at this point. "I don't want to."

Mabel held him tighter. "It's okay, little bro. Whatever's going on, we'll fix it, and if this helps you get better then-"

"It won't," he interrupted, with a note of finality. "And...I'm not going."

"But..."

"He's not going to let me leave."

The words were meant to be spoken under his breath, but in his addled state Dipper said them clearly. Mabel stiffened, pulling away from him and staring at him, blankly.

"He?"

In that moment, Dipper realized he'd made yet another mistake. 

_What are you doing?_   The voice in his head sounded irritated, as if dealing with a headstrong child. Dipper ignored it. It was easy enough with his twin staring at him so intently.

"That day you had the anxiety attack," Mabel began slowly. "Were you trying to tell me something?"

Dipper averted his gaze. He was standing on a precipice, looking down at a long drop. Mabel knew him better than anyone, even himself sometimes. There was a chain wrapped around his ankle, tugging him ever forward, and he didn't have the energy to drag himself away from the edge any longer. 

But that didn't mean he couldn't tell his jailer to fuck himself one last time.

He looked back up at her, and Mabel's eyes widened in recognition. Twin subcommunication rarely failed. 

"Was it something bad?"

_She's meddling again_ , Bill groaned; Dipper wondered if he'd caught on to what wasn't being said.  _She's just as bad as you are._

"Oh." Mabel reached for his hand, squeezing it. "All this time, I thought you were just spending so much time reading the journal because you were depressed. I'm sorry."

_What is she getting at?_ Dipper felt a hint of pride at the fact that for all his bragging about knowing everything Bill seemingly didn't have a good understanding of how twins worked. 

"I should have listened to what you weren't telling me," Mabel continued. She looked up at his, wearing that genuine sweet smile that defined her. "I'm listening now."

The pain in his arm flared up, growing from a light sting to a sharp pang that radiated through the limb and up into his shoulder.  _Oh, I see. Careful, Pine Tree._

"This isn't you, is it?" Dipper didn't respond, but he held the eye contact, gritting his teeth against the fire in his arm.  _Say yes._

"There's something making you like this."  _Say no_.

Dipper remained silent. He didn't really know what he was trying to accomplish, but if Bill didn't want him to do it then he planned to stay the course. "Is it keeping you from answering?"

_I am warning you, kid._ All pleasantry dispensed with, the demon's voice bouncing around in his skull had gained a menacing quality, and his arm felt as if were actually on fire, searing his skin from his bones. "Will it hurt you if I keep talking?"

This time Dipper nodded, jaw beginning to hurt from clenching his teeth. However, sans any other form of movement, he glanced down at the bandage on his wrist. Mabel did the same. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you." She reached over to hug him again...

_No!_

...and tore the bandage off before Dipper's arm could jerk back of its own accord. 

Despite the excruciating pain he was in his pale skin was unmarked save for the three triangles, still wet and shiny and bloody as they had been from the moment they were drawn. Mabel gasped, falling back. She looked up at Dipper, horrified. "It's him?"

Dipper shuddered, visibly. Now his skull was splitting open in addition to his arm, and it took every drop of composure he had left not to just give in and pass out. He hadn't realized it was possible for something to hurt this much. Within the depths of his own mind, where he could feel his consciousness folding in on itself, he heard his sister, calling his name. It was hard, oh so hard to do  _anything_ , but he managed to voice a single word. "Run."

Mabel hesitated, obviously concerned for the sudden change in his demeanor. "Dipper-"

" _Run_ ," he managed again...and then the sensation of something, many somethings sliding into his body, wrapping around his throat and his bones and everything within, body temperature rapidly dropping. His hand shot out, grabbing Mabel's wrist and pulling her forward, harshly. "Too late." It was Bill's voice.

The demon shimmered into existence, sitting crosslegged on the bed next to them. Dipper tried to move his head to glance up at him but his body refused, keeping it bowed. Mabel didn't face the same issue, her head snapping up. "Bill," she snarled. Dipper heard the dream demon respond with his signature laugh, but he'd heard it enough recently to tell it was forced. 

"You just couldn't mind your own business, could you? I was going to let you go unscathed for Pine Tree's sake and you just had to keep pushing it. You guys really  _are_  related."

With the remnants of his consciousness Dipper knew he was hurting his sister, but Mabel shook it off, glaring at Bill with all the crazed bravery of an avenging angel. "Let go of my brother!"

"Finders keepers!" Bill cried cheerfully. "He's been mine all along, Shooting Star."

Mabel attempted to wrench out of Dipper's grasp, wincing. "He's not some puppet, and he isn't yours!"

"Oh?" That menacing tone crept back into the demon's voice. "Wanna bet?"

The pressure in his skull receded enough for Dipper to speak again, although his hand remained firmly clamped on her wrist. "Mabel, I'm sorry, I don't want to do this..." His voice shifted ever so slightly, gaining the ethereal echo that accompanied Bill's. He felt his lips curl up into a gruesome smile. "I'm so glad I don't have to spend another moment with you!"

Mabel tried to jerk away again, squealing with pain as he tightened his grip. "Oh yes! I'm going to spend the rest of my life in the Mindscape with Master Cipher, and it will be sooo much fun! He can do _whatever he wants with me_ , and I won't die until he wants me to! Maybe never! And I'll _enjoy_ it."

"Stop," Mabel whimpered. "Please stop." 

Deep within the recesses of his mind, the part of his mind that was still Dipper sobbed. Outside, the puppet dragged his sister closer, continuing to leer at her, and Dipper could see his glowing blue eyes reflected in her own. "But I've been bad today, so I need to be punished." His head jerked up with an unnatural speed; he gazed at the demon perched on his bed with an adoring expression on his face and outright purred as Bill reached out to ruffle his hair. 

"Good Pine Tree."

Mabel was actively fighting him now to the best of her ability, although it was clear she was holding back to avoid actually hurting her brother. "Dipper, please wake up, fight it, I know you can-"

Dipper's eyes narrowed, and the hand gripping her wrist slammed it against the floor, resulting in a dull organic crunch and a shriek of pain. "I don't want to."

Inwardly Dipper screamed as well.  _Bill, don't make me do this, please don't make me do this, I'll do whatever you want._

"You should have thought of that before you outright disobeyed me," the demon smirked; Dipper squeezed his sister's broken wrist again, and Mabel cried out. "Grunkle Stan! Help! Di-"

"Oh, no you don't." 

The world faded for a split second, and Dipper found himself in control of his body once more briefly. They were out on the ledge with the rain he'd wished to stand in before slicking his hair against his forehead over his birthmark. His sister was huddled beside him, crying, and he realized he was still holding on to her wrist; his hand disobeyed his orders to release it. 

"You can blame your brother for this, Shooting Star." Bill loomed over them, his body cast in shadow save for the glittering golden eye. "I told him not get you involved."

"...me."

The words were barely audible over the sound of the rain. Mabel brushed the hair away from her face with her functioning hand and spoke again, louder. "You...can take me, instead."

His limbs were no longer his, but it was Dipper's unaltered voice that came out when he glanced over at her. "Mabel what are you doing?"

Mabel ignored him, forcing herself to look Bill in the eye. "Take me instead. Just please stop hurting him."

"Mabel, no." The strings laced around his throat dug in, and Dipper looked up desperately at Bill. 

"Oh, how sweet! Are you going to offer your soul for your brother's? Really?"

Dipper shook his head frantically, but Mabel held firm, broken wrist and all. "Yes." 

"Wow." For the first time since encountering him so long ago, Bill actually sounded sympathetic. "That's really touching. You know, maybe I should just take both of you. Two little puppets alone in the dark. One is the shadow and the other the spark. Interesting. But..."

Dipper looked back and forth between them frantically; the demon holding his strings and his sister, ready to throw her life away for his. He hoped Bill wouldn't accept. Even if it meant they could still be together, he didn't want that for her. If one of them had to leave the sun behind...it would be him. He prepared to try to speak again, forcing the words through his closed throat. I'll go with you. Leave her alone. 

Before he could do so, his hand tightened its grip on her wrist, dragging her towards the edge; Dipper strained against his own body, tugging and pleading and outright screaming, but the demon ignored him. 

"I'm sorry, Falling Star," Bill said with a shrug. "I don't like to share."

His arm moved, one swift motion, carrying Mabel with it, and just before she disappeared he met her gaze; there was no betrayal or anger, only sadness.

Dipper knew that he'd remember the sound of his sister screaming his name as he flung her off of the ledge for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legitimately felt bad after writing that and had to go hug my little sister. Also I apologize for the cliffhanger but thematically there wasn't a better place to end it. Next chapter and the epilogue will be up pretty soon. Hopefully I managed to portray Dipper starting to become unhinged well enough? Maybe? Is that a touch of dark Dipper rearing his head? Also maybe.


	10. Dipper Says Goodbye

Dipper was really starting to hate hospitals.

That sharp, antiseptic smell crept into his nostrils and lingered, and the fluorescent lights looming over his head were far too bright for his tired eyes. The chair he'd spent the past four hours perched in wasn't designed for doing so, and his backside was beginning to hurt. But he really couldn't bring himself to stretch his legs, not when he no longer trusted them, and not when he refused to let his sister out of his sight. He could thank his near hysteria for being allowed to stay with her after finally being granted access into her room, and it had taken both Wendy and Soos to keep him from hyperventilating and needing to be admitted himself after the paramedics ushered the gurney past the double doors and entirely too far away from him.

Now they were alone, with only the ticking of the wall clock, the dull buzz of the lights and the ambient beeps and whirring of machinery taking the place of Mabel's voice chattering away the way she had when their roles were switched the week before.

Unlike his sister, Dipper couldn't think of anything to say.

As far as he knew, Wendy and Soos had departed, unable to do more until visiting hours, and Stan was off picking up their parents from the airport. Hearing that yet another one of their children was in the hospital in just under a week served as the catalyst for Mr. and Mrs. Pines to hop on the next plane heading to Portland. Dipper tried not to imagine the two of them confronting his grand uncle about the recent accidents, because when he did the guilt was overwhelming. None of this was Stan's fault; both his and Mabel's injuries were all on him. 

"I'm sorry," he sighed, exhaling with the weariness of someone much older and weighed down with bad memories. He was sure he now had enough to last a lifetime. "I didn't...I didn't want you to get hurt."

Mabel didn't answer.

"I thought I could fix things on my own," Dipper continued, watching the second hand (a thin green wand) wind its way around the clock face, a vibrant sunflower that was out of place in the sterile, orderly room. He wondered how many people had breathed their last with their eyes trained on that clock. "Maybe I should have told you earlier. I just wanted to keep you safe."

Mabel persisted in her silence. It was deafening.

_The moment the strings retreated, granting him use of his own body once more, he'd clambered back through the window, losing his balance several times and tripping over his own two feet in his rush down the stairs. He was shouting, something; it might have been a panicked call for Grunkle Stan or anyone, or it may well have been his twin's name._

_He pushed his way out of the front door into the pouring rain, tripping once again on his way down the steps and landing face first in the mud but remaining undeterred, dragging himself upright and racing towards the sad lump lying still on the ground._

_"Mabel!" Everything faded as he approached her, falling to his knees and crawling the rest of the way. "Please don't be dead, please."_

_He could hear the sound of other voices approaching, muffled by the sound of his own heartbeat and the downpour, but he ignored them, wrapping his arms around his fallen sister and burying his face in her damp hair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."_

_Had he retained the presence of mind to actually check on her condition, he would have noticed that save for a bloody nose Mabel appeared to be relatively unharmed._

In the hospital bed beside him Mabel slept rather peacefully; she even had a smile on her face. The paramedics that arrived on the scene were just as stunned as the hospital staff that attended to her upon her arrival. She was definitely banged up and bruised in several places; her wrist was indeed broken, badly (what a coincidence that her worst injury was one he'd inflicted), and she'd woken up long enough to be diagnosed with a moderate concussion before falling asleep again.

Dipper wasn't able to wrangle much information out of the doctor in the absence of their parents, but from what he could gather she seemed to have retained brain functionality. Whether she suffered any post-concussion issues with memory or cognitive ability remained to be seen, but Dipper now understood that whatever effects turned up wouldn't be too much of a complication.

He'd overheard one of the nurses commenting on how sustaining so few injuries following a fall from that height must have been divine intervention.

Dipper knew it was anything but.

He finally allowed himself to look over at Mabel. Her wrist was wrapped up in a temporary cast. There was still dried blood around her nostrils and on her upper lip; Dipper stood up, retrieving a Kleenex and wetting it in the small bathroom before using it to clean the red flakes from her face. Her smile never wavered. Dipper hoped she was having a good dream.

"When you wake up...I hope you can forgive me."

He'd come to recognize the sensation of his limbs moving of their own accord, and this time Dipper made no attempt to resist whatsoever. He reached for Mabel's hand, holding it for what he was sure would be the last time. "I've got to go, okay?" 

It might have been his mind playing tricks on him, but her smile faded a bit.

Dipper let go of his sister's hand and left the room, willing himself to not look back.

His legs carried him along the corridor, somehow managing to avoid interruption, ducking into a service elevator that ferried him to a floor he didn't push the button for, out of the elevator and down another corridor, making his way out onto the roof. There was a small garden up there, nothing too fancy but shrubs and flowerbeds encasing a bench at the center. The rain from earlier was long gone, with the clouds having parted to allow the silver moonlight to cast its light over the scene.

And of course Bill sat on the bench, illuminated by both the moonlight and a vivid blue aura of energy that faded as Dipper approached. His treacherous legs carried him past the shrubs to the center of the garden, dumping him in front of the demon leering down at him. "I'm proud of you, Pine Tree!" Dipper flinched as the cane looped around his neck, tugging him to his feet. "I didn't even have to pull that hard."

Dipper refused to meet his eye. His emotions battled for supremacy within him - anger and fear and hatred and fear but mostly fear because he now understood that Bill Cipher got what he wanted, regardless of the consequences for anyone else.

"How's Shooting Star?" Bill asked, pleasantly. "She looked a little  _broken up_  over the news last time I saw her."

The dig at his actions on the ledge shattered whatever composure Dipper had left, and his vision blurred. "Why?" The word came out in a pained whisper, asking so much more than he could give voice to.

Bill shrugged. "You  _did_  say some pretty harsh things to her. I'd be hurt too if I cared about your opinion! But I don't."

The tears overflowed, devolving into full on weeping. "Why did you..." Dipper sniffled, choking on his words. "They said a fall from that height should have..."

"Killed her?" Bill ventured, cheerfully. "Maybe not killed. Paralyzed? She should be in a coma, probably. Brain damage? I don't know, you meatbags are pretty fragile!" His eye glittered. "I guess she got lucky, Pine Tree. I wouldn't count on it happening again."

"D-did you...why..." Dipper's ability to speak petered out altogether, and he neither flinched nor resisted when the demon drew him into his arms, holding him while he cried. "Go on, let it all out," he soothed. "Shooting Star doesn't blame  _or_  hate you, you know that. She's better than that." Whatever relief Dipper could have taken from that reassurance crumbled as Bill continued. "Just understand that this is all  _your_  fault. You could have saved everyone a lot of trouble if you'd simply accepted this from the start. I did give you the chance. But I have to say, Pine Tree..."

Dipper stiffened as the demon pulled him close, shuddering at the glee lacing the words Bill whispered into his ear. "It was a lot of fun watching you fall."

Dipper broke free of his grip, stumbling backwards. He pushed the part of him cringing at the desperation in his voice off into the corner off his mind. His pride and dignity meant little in the face of Mabel's security. "Please don't hurt her anymore. I'll go. I'll do whatever you want me to."

"Of course you will. That's not up for debate." Bill waved a hand dismissively. "And I never planned to off Shooting Star, just so you know."

"Then why did you make me..." Dipper couldn't finish the question.

"A reminder." Carelessly, as if Dipper wouldn't be having nightmares of nearly killing his sister for who knew how long. "I preserved her on your behalf, Pine Tree. Watching her die would have extinguished that inner glow I love so much. I want you  _bent_ , not broken."

The statement was chilling enough, but it was nothing compared to the terror that overtook Dipper when a claw  _\- when did the claws come and the teeth he could tear my throat out and I'd die up_   _here_   _and oh Mabel I'm so scared -_  tapped against his throat, with the demon's gleaming red eye searing into him, "You can remain defiant. I enjoy watching you squirm." Dipper hissed in pain as the tip of the claw slipped just beneath the surface of his skin, "But do not blatantly disobey me ever again."

"Okay," Dipper agreed, quickly; he didn't put it past Bill to near mortally wound him somehow for the hell of it then patch him up good as new (for the moment). "Okay."

"Great!" The claws withdrew, disappearing as quickly as they'd come, the crimson light in his eye softening. Bill assumed his jovial demeanor once more. "You're getting the hang of this!"

Dipper's hand crept up to his throat. His fingertips came away stained with a light sheen of blood. Any further and he'd have needed admission to the hospital downstairs yet again.

"Don't worry about Shooting Star." The projection of two images, a pine tree and a star, both shaded in Bill's signature blue hue, appeared above his head. A red spark near the base of the tree engulfed it in flames, incinerating it entirely; the star shone even more brightly in its absence. "She'll live a long and happy life once she gets over losing you. It's better that way. At least you won't hurt her again."

Dipper struggled with the urge to lunge forward and go for the demon's neck, strangling the smug expression off his face. The continual reminders hurt worse than the claws or the triangles that would probably never heal engraved in his forearm; harping on it was sheer torture, and that sadistic fuck Bill  _knew_ it. But for all his desire to throw caution to the wind and see whether he could at least leave a couple of bruises before being knocked back to the ground the very idea of that sickening loss of control in his limbs, carrying him back down the stairs towards Mabel's room... "I'll go," he muttered, absently running his hand over the bandage shielding Bill's mark from sight. "Just leave her alone."

"Then again..." The demon remarked, feigning serious contemplation, "It  _could_  be fun watching you struggle to hold back whenever she's around. They'll lock you up for sure then, won't they? But  _I'll_  always be in your head to keep you company...and maybe pull a couple of strings here and there."

The image of himself straining against a straight jacket popped unbidden into Dipper's head; the frantic protest that followed tore itself out of him echoed through the night air."No! I'll go, just..."

"Then tell me what you want, Pine Tree."

Dipper hesitated for a few seconds before speaking again. "Take me with you," he said, softly.

"Really?" Bill scoffed, unimpressed. "You can do better than that."

The teenager's face lit up with embarrassment as he repeated the words; the shame of having to beg for something he didn't even want turned his stomach. "Please take me with you."

The demon sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. Dipper tried again, this time with a little more emphasis on the 'please'. " _Please_  take me with you."

Bill snickered, clearly enjoying humiliating him just as much as he had in Dipper's Dreamscape. "I can't take you seriously while you're standing."

Dipper's flush deepened at the implication, but he dropped to his knees, keeping his head lowered to at least deny the demon the satisfaction of seeing him cry. "Please take me with you." A deep, shuddering breath. "Please. I want to go with you."

Something solid lightly rapped against his skull; it felt like the head of Bill's cane. "Come here." Dipper began to rise to his feet, only to feel the pressure against his skull forcing him back down. "Nope, stay down there." He risked a glance upward, recoiling at the wanton delight on the demon's face. "I told you I'd make you crawl, kid. Go ahead."

"Don't make me do this," Dipper pleaded, clutching at the grass beneath his palms.

"Don't worry! It's just me. Anyway you should probably get used to it."

Dipper bit his lip, tears streaming down his face as he willed himself to move forward on his hands and knees, closing the distance between them. Gloved fingers gripped his chin, lifting his head so he could get a good view of Bill watching him intently. "What do you want from me, Pine Tree?"

"T-take me with you."

"And just where would you like to go?" That smug, satisfied smirk, wringing every last drop of misery of he could out of Dipper and enjoying it just a little too much.

"The Mindscape. With you," Dipper gasped. Wanting to get it over with, he swallowed his pride altogether, pleading in a shaky voice that he refused to acknowledge as his own. "Please. I'll...be...your puppet. Whenever you want. I'm yours."

Bill grinned, fangs on full display. "How could I possibly say no to that?"

Blue flames engulfed the hand holding his chin; instead of the heat he was expecting a chill ran throughout his body, just as unpleasant and agonizing and Dipper couldn't help but cry out at the sensation. It reminded him of the bite of ice held against unprotected flesh for too long, creeping along the intangible strings woven throughout his body and setting  _every single nerve_  alight. He imagined he was screaming, but the thing rapidly closing around his neck (this was no thread, it felt entirely too solid to be so) trapped the sound in his throat.

So he screamed in his head.

When the pain faded, either mere seconds or years later (he couldn't tell anymore), Dipper fell forward, slumped against the demon's knees. A shaky hand strayed up to his neck as it had earlier, although this time he felt what appeared to be a thick band of leather with a triangular ornament at the center. Running his fingertips along the collar revealed no features allowing him to remove it on his own. For better or worse, it was there to stay.

Dipper only received a few seconds to consider the newest addition to his body before trembling at the sound of Bill laughing in a manner that was decidedly unhinged, tracing the incline of his jaw with his fingertips. "You're mine now, Pine Tree. Mine, mine,  _mine_."

_Yeah. I know._  Dipper sighed with relief when he pulled his hand away. He wanted nothing more to let himself collapse, thoroughly emotionally and physically exhausted, but there was something he still needed to do before letting Bill drag him off to wherever. With as much humility as he could muster Dipper looked up at him from where he was kneeling. "Please..."

Bill gazed down at him, amused. "Yes?"

"...can I be there when she wakes up?"

"You mean Shooting Star? Nope."

"Please let me say goodbye," Dipper now begged in earnest. He could already feel the separation anxiety creeping its way into his heart. He knew it was too late to ask about his parents, Stan, Wendy, Soos, any of the other people who'd wonder where he'd gone until they either forgot him altogether or moved on. But he couldn't leave his other half, not without saying  _something_.

Bill sighed. "I gave you the chance, didn't I? It's not my fault you wasted it."

"Just Mabel." Dipper clasped one of the demon's hands with his own. "Please let me talk to her one more time."

Bill regarded him carefully for a moment, during which Dipper's heart rate spiraled out of control at the possibility of his request ultimately being denied. "I  _guess_  I can let you do that much. You'll probably mope forever otherwise. But...you're gonna have to tell me how much you want it."

A final tear slid along the curve of his cheek, clinging futilely to his chin before landing on the back of his hand. Dipper knelt again in the grass, bowing his head obediently. "Please."

"Please, who?"

"Master Cipher."

"That's better. Go on."

 

* * *

 

Mabel's Dreamscape was, as Dipper had expected ever since seeing Stan's earlier that summer (who knew what his looked like before Bill corrupted it),  _so_  Mabel. It appeared to be perpetually early afternoon, during the sweet spot between noon and the couple of hours preceding evening when the sunlight took on an aged quality; instead of the darkened, sickly woods of their grand uncle's Dreamscape there was a large, sprawling field covered in soft, springy grass and dotted liberally with summer flowers in full bloom. A babbling brook sparkled in the sunlight, and butterflies, so many butterflies hung in the air like brightly colored leaves floating on the wind. Mabel's Dreamscape put every other idyllic fantasy landscape Dipper had come across to shame. 

A significantly larger flower with pale pink leaves grew a few yards away in the middle of the field; at its center he could see Mabel herself, curled up and slumbering with a stuffed version of Waddles nestled in her arms. The flower seemed to serve as the central hub of her Dreamscape. There were neat paths leading from it into the woods ringing the field; he assumed her memories lay beyond the treeline. 

He was going to miss his sister more than anything else he was leaving behind.

After checking his now thankfully temporarily healed and unbandaged forearm and touching his bare neck to make sure Bill had indeed held up his part of the bargain, Dipper approached the flower. A closer look at the petals confirmed that it was a real flower, rooted into the ground amidst a bed of soft green leaves. He reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. Mabel muttered to herself in her sleep before her eyes crept open. "...hm? Dipper?"

She raised her arms above her head, stretching and yawning. "Where are we?" She gazed out at the field surrounding them. "I've been here before."

"In your dreams?" Dipper quipped, smiling. 

"Yeah!" Mabel swung her legs over the side of the flower, continuing to survey the landscape. "How did you know?"

"This is your Dreamscape." Dipper announced with a flourish. "It's a lot cooler than mine, trust me."

"My...?" Mabel paused, brow furrowing with concern. "Why are we here? Is...is this the  _afterlife_?"

"No. No one's dead." 

"Good." Mabel's worried expression relaxed. "It's nice but it's a little deserted. It could get lonely after a few...centuries? Dipper, how do ghosts experience time?"

"You're not a ghost, Mabel!" Dipper snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You're not dead."

"I know!" Mabel shot back. "But one of these days I  _could_  be a ghost, and I want to be prepared for when it happens."

Dipper honestly didn't know how to respond to that, so he shook his head and soldiered on towards the real reason for his visit. He didn't have forever. "So I've got good news and bad news."

"Huh. I guess that's better than bad news and worse news!" Mabel chirped. "What's the bad news?"

"You're going to be okay," Dipper said, leaning against the flower and idly rubbing his forearm. "You just have a concussion and a broken wrist  _but_  it should heal pretty quickly. And it wasn't your dominate hand so it won't affect your ability to draw or knit. Nothing like that. You got...really lucky." His tongue stumbled over the last couple of words, but Mabel didn't seem to notice.

"What happened?" She was taking this  _really_  well, all things considered. 

"You don't remember?" Dipper asked, concerned. Perhaps it made sense, though. Hopefully it wasn't an indication of memory loss. Aside from the other terms of his agreement with Bill. "You lost your balance and fell off the ledge."

"Really?" Mabel sounded incredulous. 

"Really."

"Is that the bad news?"

Dipper faltered for a second before forcibly changing the subject. "Hey, you want to explore a bit? It's not every day that you get the chance to poke around in your own head."

Mabel's attention span may have been lacking, but her perception was far better than anyone gave her credit for. She narrowed her eyes, watching him apprehensively. "Dipper? What's the bad news?"

Dipper let out a heavy sigh. "...you're going to be stuck on hospital food until you're clear to go home."

"Nooo!" Mabel flopped over on her back, shaking her fist at the sky. "You're gonna have to sneak in emergency rations, bro bro."

"The green Jello isn't that bad. It tastes like soap but it could be worse."

For some reason this notion struck Mabel as hilarious; she doubled over laughing, rolling off the surface of the flower and landing in the grass with a soft  _plop_. 

Dipper extended his hand to her, helping her up. "Wanna take a literal walk down Memory Lane?"

Mabel grinned. "Let's go!"

So they did, weaving in and out of the memories that included Dipper (they were thankfully marked, as were the parts of Mabel's mind that he wanted nothing to do with). Smaller versions of themselves burying each other in the sand on a trip to the beach as children, camping out in the backyard, Mabel beating the crap out of the one kid stupid enough to bully Dipper on their first day of grade school, discovering that redecorating the living room wall with fingerpaint wasn't the best idea they'd ever had. 

Dipper holding her hand when she got her braces, terrified of the dentist and strung out with anxiety over the lidocaine injection; picking out their cat at the shelter, finally receiving separate rooms at their house in Piedmont and negating the entire purpose of them by either one of them dragging a blanket in and curling up on the floor next to their twin's bed when they got lonely. Destroying the kitchen with food experiments and running for cover when their mother caught them in the act. Staring out the windows on their way up to Gravity Falls for the summer, with Mabel bouncing in excitement and Dipper frowning at having to spend his summer in the woods in the middle of nowhere. 

Breaking into an abandoned convenience store and discovering the merman in the public pool and talking so much crap about Gideon after Mabel broke it off for good, watching the sun rise and set on the ledge, hanging out with Soos and Wendy at the arcade and watching Stan engage in criminal activity with no shame whatsoever. Birthdays and Christmas mornings and matching costumes on Halloween. Dipper hugging her when she cried, and vice versa, fourteen years of experiencing the world hand in hand. 

Dipper's heart hurt, but he kept the smile plastered across his face for her benefit. 

And with every memory, his resolve solidified. 

_Bent, but not broken._

_Okay, you bastard._

When the twins finally tired of exploring they returned to the flower, sitting on the edge and enjoying the floral aroma carried on the breeze. Mabel sighed, falling back in a puff of shimmering pollen. "That was a lot of fun," she declared, happily. "You know, it wouldn't be the same without you, little bro."

Dipper looked down at his hands, rubbing his forearm. "Hey, Mabel..."

"I know, I know, five minutes," Mabel interrupted him, giggling. When Dipper failed to respond she stopped, sitting up and poking him in the shoulder. "Hey, Dippin' Dot, are you okay?"

Dipper forced himself to face her, taking a deep breath. She deserved that much. "I...I have to go now. And I might be gone for a long time."

Something in his voice wiped the smile off her face immediately; instead of asking him whether he was kidding she seized his shoulders. "Go where?"

"I can't...it doesn't matter. I'll be okay," Dipper lied. Mabel wasn't convinced in the slightest, and she shook him then. 

"What's going on?  _Where_  are you going? Dipper!"

"I'm sorry I can't keep my promise."

"Oh." Mabel released him, scooting back. Her eyes were wide, and Dipper could tell she was beginning to panic. "You're actually leaving me? For real?"

"I don't want to!" Dipper blurted out. "But...I'll do anything to keep you and everyone else safe."

Mabel sniffled, wiping at the moisture stinging the corners of her eyes. "Dipper, what are you talking about? Why can't you just  _tell_  me?"

Dipper lifted his hand, and despite her distress Mabel managed to press hers against his, a perfect match. "If I could I would tell you everything. But I can't."

Mabel burst into tears, sobbing bitterly. Dipper decided that this was the worst part of everything that had happened in the past few weeks. No amount of bargaining could fix breaking her heart. Dipper hugged her, allowing her to dampen his shirt and cling to him as if she could prevent him from letting go. "Mabel, I need you to promise me something. It's going to be the hardest thing I've ever asked you to do. I need you to keep going without me. You have to live your life."

"I can't," Mabel whimpered. "You know I can't."

"You have to." Dipper held her closer; he was saving his tears for later. "You're a great artist and creative and funny and just awesome in general. Everyone loves you. You've got more talent than anyone else I know. So I need you to move on and learn to be happy again even if I can't be there with you. I don't want you to waste your life trying to find me or wondering when I'll be back."

He broke the embrace, pressing his forehead against hers. "You have to live in the light for both of us."

"What do I tell Mom and Dad and Grunkle Stan?" Mabel whispered.

That wasn't something Dipper knew how to approach. He'd made a point of not thinking about anyone else; he didn't want to break down where Mabel could see him. "Just be there for them, okay?"

Mabel bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed, wrapping her arms around her stomach and continuing to weep. "Why is this happening?" she asked, shakily. "Why?"

_I don't know_. "Sometimes things are beyond our control."

Mabel reached for his hand again. "That's stupid."

"It is," Dipper agreed. "But I want you to try to remember this, even though there are a few things you won't remember when you wake up. This isn't permanent. No matter how long it takes, I'll find my way back to you. But you can't waste your life waiting on me. Just trust me."

"Will I see you when I dream?"

Dipper wondered about the plausibility of that. It was certainly  _possible_ , but convincing Bill would take a lot of work on his part. "I'll try."

"I love you," Mabel said, squeezing his hand. "You're my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother," Dipper pointed out, glad she couldn't see his own tears. He'd done pretty well holding back thus far. "I love you too."

"I'll see you later."

  

* * *

 

Mabel's eyes opened, blinking in the fluorescent lights set in the ceiling. Everything everywhere was white, and she felt the uncomfortable presence of an IV in her arm. Her throat hurt, and she could tell her face was wet without even having to check. 

She knew where she was, at least; she dimly remembered speaking to the doctor at some point, but the memory was fragmented. Why was she even there? Trying to recall what had landed her in the hospital in the first place drew a blank. No fragments, nothing - no indication that a memory had ever existed in the first place, and yet she instinctively knew something was missing. The last thing she could remember was calling out after Dipper as he ran from the kitchen, away from her and Grunkle Stan. 

Dipper.

Mabel sat up, ignoring how stiff she felt and the foreign material covering her wrist. "Dipper?" she rasped. The hospital room was empty save for herself. 

As she rose something sitting on her stomach fell to the side. She reached for the object, fingers brushing against the hard brim of a baseball cap with a single blue pine tree printed on it. 

Mabel held the cap against her chest and cried until her voice gave out. 

 

* * *

 

Dipper stuffed the journal into his backpack, nestled among the handful of items he was being allowed to take with him. He'd considered leaving the journal for Mabel, but that was probably counterproductive if he wanted her to stop grieving eventually and start living again. He knew if he left any evidence behind she'd devote herself to trying to figure out where he'd gone. 

Among the other things he was taking with him were a few photographs of himself, Mabel, and the rest of the Mystery Shack crew. He didn't have any pictures of his parents himself but fortunately he managed to nab one from Mabel's scrapbook. There were a few other trinkets, mostly personal items that he knew Bill wouldn't be able to replicate (the demon had assured him that he didn't need to worry about basic necessities, and although Dipper didn't trust the one-eyed asshole further than he could throw him he believed that much at least). His black light, a notebook, a couple of pens, two of the books he hadn't read yet. Maybe he could ask for more somewhere down the line. 

There really were no guidelines for packing for a lengthy stay in what he assumed was another dimension. 

He briefly popped into the bathroom to inspect the collar around his neck. A featureless black band; the triangular charm at the nape of his neck appeared to be pure gold. Of course. The mark on his arm was back, but for the first time in weeks he no longer needed bandages. The wound was fully healed now, with three perfect triangles permanently tattooed on his skin. 

When he was satisfied (he wasn't, but he wanted to say goodbye to the Shack before Bill came after him) he took one last look at the room around him. He noticed the triangular patch of moonlight on the floorboards, streaming through that damned window. 

Vandalism was a shitty parting gift for Grunkle Stan, but Dipper didn't like triangles, and the oval at the center of this one looked too much like an eye for his liking.

So he threw one of his hardcover books through it. His aim wasn't great, as always, but for once he met his mark perfectly, listening to the glass shatter with a grim smile on his face. 

_That's better._

When he finally tore himself away from running his hands over the surfaces in the Mystery Shack, sitting in Stan's chair, and gulping down a can of Pit Cola, he shut the door behind him and headed into the woods. It was easier to avoid looking back than it was leaving Mabel's room in the hospital. He slipped beyond the treeline where Bill was waiting for him, leaning against a tree impatiently.

"That took long enough," Bill commented. His eye shone in the darkness surrounding them. 

"I've never had to pack for such a longterm trip before," Dipper said dryly. 

Bill chuckled. "This isn't a trip, kid. It's one way, no matter what lies you told your sister."

Dipper tensed as the demon wrapped his arms around his chest from behind, resting his chin atop his head. "You're mine now, and I'm  _never_  letting you go."

_No. No no no._  Bile rose in the back of Dipper's throat. The severity of the situation dawned on him fully now that he'd said his goodbyes; Bill seemed to sense his sudden uneasiness and tightened his grip, placing his hand over his heart. Dipper whimpered at the feeling of claws digging into his chest, just below the surface where he could feel their presence. "Ready?"

_No._

His lips parted, voicing a single word in Bill's voice. "Yes."

The faintly lit trees became mere shadows, the moon winked out, and the world around Dipper faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, he asked Bill to seal her memories involving her finding out about his involvement in Dipper's breakdown. 
> 
> Finale on the horizon. Thanks for reading thus far.


	11. Epilogue: Mabel Says Hello (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. You're probably going to kill me, and you're justified in doing so. :S
> 
> My apologies for taking so long to get this out. I struggled for a bit with how I wanted to end it, as well as getting bogged down with life and school. I decided to break the epilogue into two chapters, with the first being a passive time skip and the second being the bulk of the ending. Thanks to everyone who's read and enjoyed the story thus far, and the second part of the epilogue should be up in a few days. I sincerely hope my writing is still up to par. 
> 
> Also the usage of Stan's fake identity/name is intentional. The events here would have happened before the completion of the portal - and they definitely would have affected or even precluded it, thus the events of NWHS don't take place.

Adjusting to life without her twin brother was hell for Mabel Pines, mostly because it was damn near impossible to do so. After spending fourteen years of her life hand in hand with Dipper his disappearance into thin air that summer left her with a yawning hole in her chest that no amount of attention from her remaining family and friends could hope to fill.

For starters, there was the utter lack of closure. She woke up after her fall from the ledge with her wrist encased in plaster, Dipper's cap in her hands, and no note or other indication of where he might have gone. The space in her memories between her last fight with her brother and waking up without him was just that: empty space, as if the memories had been neatly carved out and removed along with Dipper himself. The phantom sensation of loss, as well as the inexplicable sense of certainty that Dipper was  _gone_  drove her into a fit of hyperventilation and tears that sent the nurses in the adolescent wing of the hospital running to her side. Upon their arrival she declined to elaborate, simply showing them the cap - but she refused to let them have it, outright screaming at the head nurse when she attempted to pry it out of her fingers.

As far as she was concerned, that cap was the last string tying her to her brother.

Of course things only got worse with the return of her parents and grand uncle. The blame game briefly arose and thankfully died as quickly as it had come; the Pines parents immediately turned their ire on Stanford only to find him in a state of dejection similar to that of their daughter, seated in a nearby chair with his face buried in his hands and his shoulders shaking. In the end, it didn't matter whose fault it was, because Dipper was still missing.

The new few weeks were a blur, and later on Mabel suspected that blending the events surrounding the authorities' search for her twin into one thick cloud bank of memories might have been an emergency-based coping mechanism.

There wasn't enough evidence to prove or disprove the involvement of other parties in the situation. It wasn't as if Dipper didn't have enemies, because you couldn't live in a place like Gravity Falls and not run afoul of some creepy individual (human or otherwise), but the lack of signs of a struggle at the Mystery Shack or any of the last places he'd been seen that night, the neat and orderly manner his side of the room was left in prior to his disappearance, coupled with his reaction to learning that he was to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital as an involuntary patient...all of it suggested that he'd either run away or taken much more drastic measures.

Mabel refused to say the word 'suicide'. She knew in her heart that her brother wouldn't have left her in such a manner, but her intuition crashed harmlessly against popular opinion in the end. A perfunctory search for the missing Pines twin took place, more so for his elements instead of his actual person, but after a couple of weeks of no leads whatsoever he was presumed missing indefinitely, filed away in that middleground between the dead and the gone, neither here nor there. The memorial service took place in Oregon instead of Piedmont, as their parents knew how much the town meant to him, as well as the close friends he'd made over the years in Gravity Falls; they were not mistaken in the assumption that his presence would be missed much more among the quirky residents of the twins' summer home. Nearly the entire town turned up for the event; everyone knew of the monster hunter boy whether they'd personally interacted with him or not, and Stanford was such a staple of their lives that the outpouring of condolences for his loss was inevitable, anyway.

Mabel was unable to handle the service without breaking down completely; she stayed in their room in the Shack, huddled against her bed, staring at the empty half of the room now disheveled after being torn apart during the search for any clues as to where Dipper might have gone. Even the journal, her brother's prized possession since that first summer, was missing - effectively precluding any argument she or Stan might have made regarding some form of paranormal influence in the case. After awhile Pacifica, Candy, and Grenda sought her out and stayed with her until she exhausted herself crying yet again. All rivalries and internal conflict took a backseat to their friend's distress, and although she wasn't capable of expressing it Mabel was extremely grateful for that.

It still didn't stop her from feeling utterly alone.

If being in Gravity Falls for the investigation and memorial services was torture, returning home was even worse. She found herself fielding questions at school from fellow students who had never gotten along with or cared one way or the other for Dipper, merely intrigued by the kind of thing most people only experienced vicariously through the news, and when she wasn't being bombarded with genuinely expressed sympathy or curiosity Dipper's absence was even more pronounced. They no longer shared a room, at least not officially, but she'd spent so much time in his and vice versa that being confined to her own bedroom left Mabel in a state of anxiety that seemed unbearable. Dipper's room remained as he'd left it, but he wasn't there and she avoided it like the plague. At some point her parents went in and spent several days cleaning and storing their late son's personal effects before shutting the door for good. And with that, Dipper Pines was really and truly gone for the rest of the world, and there was little left to do besides trying to move on.

Except she couldn't. For Mabel the loss of her twin was tantamount to the loss of a physical part of herself, and the resulting depression wrapped itself around her limbs and looped around her neck, threatening to choke the remaining life out of her. For the first time ever, she'd stopped knitting, or crafting anything in any shape or form. She read the texts and emails from her friends back in Gravity Falls and at home, but failed to respond to any of them with more than the bare minimum of acknowledgment, if that. For someone who previously saw the world in such a variety of vibrant hues, the shift to monotone was devastating. Much to her parents' chagrin, she began to isolate herself in her own room, the way Dipper had before his supposed death, eating little and saying less.

Then the dreams came.

They were hazy, at first; upon awakening in the morning she'd dimly recall a lush setting of jeweled greens, the cerise of flowers and golden sunlight bathing all of it its warmth. The setting was such a contrast to the world she dwelt in while awake that it lingered for a few hours even after her eyes opened. It felt all too much like a holdover of her old self, and left her frustrated and irritable...

...but at least she was feeling something.

The dreams persisted, increasing in length and clarity even as the Mabel Pines that feigned life for her parents and friends languished during her waking hours. They gradually expanded beyond a simple array of color, sharpening into a lush landscape that put every fantasy setting she'd ever seen animated or illustrated to shame. Summer flowers in full bloom, crystal clear water, grass the perfect consistency beneath her bare feet. At first she could only take a few steps into the field before waking up, but as the days passed and melded into weeks she gained the ability to move more freely, growing ever closer to what appeared to be a large flower with pale pink petals.

The Mabel in the world outside her dreams was fading. Her parents didn't know what to do, terrified into inaction at the thought of losing their remaining child. Her friends, both in Piedmont and Gravity Falls, reached out to no avail. It seemed as if she were intent on following her brother wherever he'd gone.

* * *

 

On the night when Mabel finally reached the flower, she did so in a hospital bed once again, with her parents on one side and her three closest friends (after hearing that she'd become unresponsive the heir to the Northwest fortune had literally stormed her way into Candy and Grenda's homes and dragged them onto a plane with her; their shared concern for their friend had effectively washed away any remaining enmity between the three teenagers) on the other.

The center of the flower looked so plush and inviting, and all she wanted to do was climb into it and drift off to sleep. Maybe she could stay here forever, slumbering in a field of flowers beneath the summer sun.

"Mabel."

Mabel stiffened at the voice, turning to face the newcomer. She hadn't heard it in months, and her stomach immediately clenched at the sound she'd listened to nearly every single day of her life up until that past summer.

"...Dipper?"

Her twin stood behind her, looking as he had the last time they'd spoken, at least physically: khaki cargo shorts, orange shirt, navy vest - everything save the iconic blue and white cap. That's where the similarities petered out; this Dipper possessed a bearing of world weariness that added a feverish gleam to his eyes; everything from his posture to the genuine yet tired smile on his face suggested that he was completely exhausted. 

Mabel opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Dream or not, her mouth had run dry, and her next words came out in a hoarse whisper. "You're here?"

Dipper shrugged. "Sort of? Not gonna lie, I don't really get dream mechanics."

Mabel leapt at him, embracing her brother with a ferocity that almost bowled the both of them over. Instead of a hollow spectre he  _felt_  real, solid, like an actual person, and the realization that this Dipper was  _the_  Dipper instead of a figment of her imagination (as implausible as it was) brought instant tears to her eyes. "You're  _here_."

Dipper returned the hug briefly before placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her away, albeit gently. The urgency in his voice was reflected in his expression - deadly serious. "Mabel. I don't have much time, so just listen. I need you to snap out of it."

"I miss you," Mabel murmured, almost in a trance; the words slipped from her lips with no effort whatsoever. They'd been poised there for so very long. "I miss you so much, Dipper. It's lonely without you."

Dipper sighed. "Yeah, I know. Mabel. Pay attention." He shook her, just enough to break the state of awe she'd settled into. "I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work."

His words needed no further clarification, and Mabel averted her gaze with more than a little guilt. One didn't cease interacting with the world without a clue as to what they were getting into, and her self-isolation was hardly an unplanned result of grieving for her lost sibling. She'd internally convinced herself that the coming darkness would lead her to wherever Dipper had gone, and resolved to embrace it, regardless of her better judgement. Even then she'd realized that this was not what Dipper would have wanted, whether he was truly dead or not, but this knowledge paled against the depths of loneliness resulting from his absence. Now faced with the implications of her decision, Mabel couldn't look her brother in the eye.

Dipper's expression softened, and he hugged her again before continuing. "Look, I promised I'd find my way back to you, and I meant it. But you have to wait for me. You have to hold it together until then."

"It's too hard," Mabel blurted out, with just a hint of hysteria in her tone. "I don't know how to breathe right with you gone."

"I know," Dipper admitted. "But  _they_  need you. Mom and Dad and Grunkle Stan. They need you there, being the light. And I need you to keep going. I left because I had to. You've got a choice. And you _have_  to choose yourself."

"Where are you?"

Dipper sighed, averting his gaze this time. "Somewhere you can't follow."

"Why?" Mabel cried. This was all too cruel.

"Because you just can't!" Dipper snapped. "Trust me, okay?"

Mabel stared at him, eyes scrutinizing every one of their matching features. It felt as if she were losing Dipper all over again.

But...he was right.

"...I trust you."  _And I'll try_.

Dipper flashed her a grateful smile for all of a few seconds before visibly flinching. " _Shit_." He sighed, muttering to himself. "I thought he'd give me a few more minutes."

Before Mabel could inquire as to what he meant Dipper stepped forward, pulling her into a final embrace. "I've gotta go. And it might be awhile before I can come see you again," he explained, apologetic. "This one was really expensive.

Mabel held on tighter, hoping it could make him stay, knowing this hope was futile. "When will you be back?"

"I don't have an estimate. But I need you to try and hold out until then."

Mabel sniffled, wiping her eyes with the hem of her sweater. "Okay."  
  
Whereas his figure had presented itself as solid at first, Dipper's form rapidly gained a translucence spreading from head to toe. "I'll see you later...big sis."

Mabel laughed through her tears, her first genuine laugh in months. "Five minutes."

And then Dipper was gone, somewhere she couldn't follow.

Later on, she wouldn't recall the bulk of that final dream save for the promise that echoed in her head, clear as the ringing of a bell. 

* * *

 

When Mabel woke up in a hospital bed for the second time that year, surrounded by people who loved and needed her, her first words were a pun so bad that it didn't bear repeating. 

She then asked if someone could bring her her knitting needles.

The road back to being truly alive was very difficult, but Mabel clung to it with the same dedication with which she'd previously resolved to stray from it. After weeks of not eating properly and hypersomnia it took a few days before she could attempt solid food. Not a moment passed that she did not have at least one visitor - Pacifica waved a stack of bills disguised as a hospital donation, and proper visiting hours became flexible. She made a point of staying by her friend's side, to the point where Mabel began to view her upcoming return to Oregon with mild trepidation. The day she was released from hospital also involved seeing her friends off at the airport, smiling at Candy and Grenda's enthusiasm at riding in first class again.

From there began the process of regaining  _herself_. She hadn't completed a sweater in several months, and while her fingers knew their way around a skein of yarn it took a few tries to return to her former standard. For two days straight she made up for having neglected her craft for such an extended period of time. The patterns varied, as usual, but into each one shade sure to include a single blue pine tree.

She returned to school, fielding the former questions about her brother and the more recent ones regarding herself with as much grace as she could muster, channeling her frustration into art classes and discovering that her artistic talent extended to painting as well. She created landscapes, woods composed of trees with branches interlaced like fingers, rolling fields of summer flowers, caverns full of amber, a dark, deep body of water that concealed secrets. She started communicating with her old friends, and made a few new ones; she kept in touch with Pacifica specifically on a constant basis, from texting to sending off sweaters that she knew the other girl wouldn't be caught dead in and receiving expensive skeins of yarn in return.

The next summer, with more than a few reservations and a good deal of anxiety, she returned to Gravity Falls - via flight instead of the lengthy bus ride she'd shared with Dipper for the past few years. She still couldn't bring herself to do so without him in tow. Nearly a year had passed since she'd seen her granduncle in person, and upon retrieving her from the airport Soos confirmed her suspicions; Stan had taken Dipper's disappearance nearly as badly as she had, and the Mystery Shack's once fairly steady business had slowed to a crawl. There seemed to be an additional dimension to his depression, something neither Soos nor Wendy (who continued to show up for work shifts of her own accord, as if out of respect for his loss) could pinpoint the source of. Although the arrival of his favorite (and only) grandniece lifted his spirits a good bit, that particular shadow, whether due to what he perceived as his own negligence or some other, unidentified loss, never faded from his eyes. But with Mabel with him, alongside the efforts of his two trusted employees, the Mystery Shack gradually regained a semblance of its former glory over the next couple of years of summer visits.

Mabel instinctually stayed far away from the woods. There was nothing for her there.

Back at home, she continued her art classes, gaining a bit of notoriety for her paintings, occasionally selling her sweaters and accessories. Her grades were average, as usual, but what she lacked in academic achievement she made up for in creativity, imagination, and effervescence. Eventually her work resulted in a few smaller scholarships - and a much larger one to the California College of the Arts.

She never ceased missing her brother, and the ache failed to dull over time the way the therapist her parents forced her to see for awhile claimed it would. However, instead of focusing on how much the absence hurt, she used it as a standing reminder that he'd find his way back to her, one day. And when that day came, she'd have so much to tell him, and show him. 

Thus Mabel Pines strolled through her teens and on into adulthood, remaining a pinprick of brilliant light to those around her, much like a shooting star illuminating the night sky. 

* * *

 

At the age of twenty-five, a couple of years following her graduation from college, Mabel found herself on a flight back to Gravity Falls - this time to assist with the planning of and attend the funeral of her beloved grand uncle, Stanford Pines.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two incoming.


	12. Mabel Says Hello (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever! I hope the ending does the rest of the story justice. Thank you for sticking with me for the ride, and thank you so much for all the encouragement and commentary you've given me.
> 
> As a note: Stan is still referred to as Stanford as his identity is never discovered/the portal is never completed following Dipper's disappearance. That's not an oversight. : )

Despite having done so on the Northwest dime several times, Mabel still hadn't grown accustomed to flying first class. Truth be told despite her initial awe regarding the experience the first time she done so she still preferred coach. It was livelier, and she felt far less out of place than she did among the suits and more standoffish passengers that responded less favorably to her conversational efforts. However, in this particular instance she greatly appreciated the privacy. No one spoke to her aside from the flight attendants, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Stan was gone.

The news hadn't come as  _that_  much of a shock; her grand uncle's health had seemingly begun to deteriorate following the summer when she returned to Piedmont alone, and the last time she'd spent the summer visiting him out at the Mystery Shack she'd been disheartened to see just how much he'd slowed down. He was still the good old morally compromised Grunkle Stan she'd grown to love with all her heart over the years, but she could tell the light was fading from his eyes. Something had broken within the man the summer everything changed, and although Mabel suspected that it was more than just guilt over losing his grand nephew he'd never been forthcoming with any further explanation. Now it was too late.

Mabel concentrated on sucking down what had to be her third chocolate milkshake. She didn't feel like dissolving into a sobbing mess in public again.

Instead of dwelling on the service she'd been tasked with making the arrangements for and officiating, she directed her attention to the bank of clouds beyond her window, analyzing the array of colors born of the late afternoon sunlight, devoting herself to memorizing the sight so she could attempt to recreate it on a canvas once she finished up in Gravity Falls and headed home.

"Miss?"

Mabel flinched, startled out of her reverie, and looked up at the stewardess. "Sorry! I'm done. Can I get another?"

"Of course!" The woman graced her with a smile as she retrieved the empty glass. "Just let me know if you want anything else."

"Thank you." Mabel returned the gesture, eternally grateful that no one had bothered to question her 'drinking' problem thus far. Once the attendant left, her face relaxed into the same blank expression she'd worn all day and she returned to gazing out the window, unable to truly focus on the beautiful display before her.

Mabel Pines was tired of losing people.

* * *

 

"He should be here by now," Mabel muttered to herself, clutching the handle of the cart containing her luggage. There was the distinct possibility that she'd packed just a little too much for what would only be a few days out of town. Half of it was crafting supplies, from yarn to extra sets of needles to all sorts of odds and ends. You never knew when you'd find yourself tasked with whipping up a sweater at a moment's notice, and Mabel liked to be prepared. 

It wasn't until she found herself tugging the cart along behind her through the crowded airline terminal at PDX that she began to regret her decision. Perhaps she  _was_  becoming spoiled, at least somewhat; she'd grown used to the Northwest family's chauffeur meeting her at the airport and ferrying her back to Gravity Falls. This time Marco, with his crisply pressed uniform and little sign printed with 'Miss Mabel Pines' was nowhere to be seen in the mass of friends and relatives waiting for recent arrivals. She gnawed on her bottom lip anxiously, scanning the unfamiliar faces once more before rifling through her handbag for her phone.

" _Mabel!_ " The word was spoken in a sharp hiss, and Mabel's head shot up, seeking out the voice calling her. A woman with blonde hair tucked beneath a brown silk scarf and large sunglasses obscuring her eyes beckoned to her. Mabel's eyes lit up, and she rushed over to greet her with the overladen cart in tow. "Pacif-"

" _Shhh_!" Pacifica glanced from side to side suspiciously before continuing. "I'm just the chauffeur."

"Ohhh." Mabel responded in a conspiratorial tone, winking at her. "So you'll get these for me, then?"

Pacifica stared at her through her dark lenses. "I said  _chauffeur_ , not pack mule."

At the sound of the imperious tone she was used to, Mabel let go of her luggage cart and threw herself forward, embracing Pacifica tightly and burying her face in her shoulder. 

In the end the heiress did end up assisting her with the load by carrying a couple of bags, leaving Mabel in awe of how much Pacifica had changed since they first met. She grumbled a bit over the foot traffic, but otherwise seemed perfectly content hauling Mabel and her belongings to the car parked outside in the lot among all the others. Granted, said car probably cost more than most people made in a couple of years, and the ring of 'rhinestones' circling the steering wheel cover were definitely real diamonds, but she  _was_  still a Northwest.

She settled back into the soft, rich leather of the passenger seat with a contended sigh. "I thought you were sending Marco."

Pacifica dropped the keys into the cupholder and pushed the ignition button. "I figured it would be better to pick you up myself this time."

She left the reasoning behind her decision unspoken, but Mabel understood perfectly. After all, Pacifica  _had_  been the first person she called upon receiving the news about Stan. She reached over and placed her hand atop her friend's. "Thanks."

A light flush colored her face at the contact, and Pacifica turned her attention back to the dashboard. "Don't get used to it."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence while Pacifica navigated the parking lot with only a minimal amount of swearing under her breath. Mabel took the chance to message her parents to inform them that she'd arrived, and once they were on the interstate Pacifica relaxed enough for the conversation to pick up again. "How are you holding up?"

"...they cut me off after the fifth milkshake," Mabel admitted. It was for the best in the long run - as it turned out five incredibly rich milkshakes hadn't exactly agreed with her stomach. "And you didn't tell me they served Dutch chocolate milkshakes in first class."

"Mabel. They serve  _everything_  in first class."

"Well, I think you've ruined flying for me, Paz." Mabel grinned. "I don't know if I can go back to coach after that."

Pacifica grimaced. "Why would you want to?"

"Hey, it's not  _that_  bad. Even though they don't serve milkshakes."

Residual haughtiness aside, Mabel couldn't have been happier to see her friend. Although college had resulted in a slight decrease in communication between herself and her old friends back in Piedmont, she'd never ceased talking to Pacifica, Candy, and Grenda, the former in particular. Their shared animosity had all but faded away following their first summer, and Pacifica's efforts in trying to save Dipper from whatever had happened to him when they were fourteen had cemented a friendship that only blossomed further as time passed. Of course Pacifica's parents remained obstinate over their daughter spending so much time (in person over summer and through a number of virtual means in the months between) with a plebeian, but Pacifica could've cared less and was adamant about including Mabel in events that she'd only dreamed of. At first Mabel couldn't understand why the heiress enjoyed her company so much; it wasn't until she found herself comforting her distraught friend following a fight with her mother during a garden party that it occurred to her that among all the faux gems adorning the world the Northwests dwelt in, to Pacifica she just might be the only genuine diamond.

The thought made her somewhat lightheaded and caused something to flutter within her chest; she held Pacifica tighter as she cried and tried her hardest to stop thinking about how silky her hair was against her skin.

From then on, the two of them danced along the line between close friends and something a little more, with the light tension only building as they got older. Mabel often wondered if she was the only one who could feel it; was chemistry one-sided, or did it require both parties to be aware of it for it to register as chemistry? Regardless, she wasn't willing to possibly damage their friendship by stepping over that line, willfully holding herself back from closing the distance between them when they danced together at parties she didn't belong at, faces close enough that she'd eventually memorized the exact color of Pacifica's eyes.

The small talk persisted for the duration of the drive. Mabel could tell that Pacifica wanted to move to the topic of why she'd be staying in town for the next few days, but she wasn't ready to go down that road again yet. She'd done an excellent job of holding herself together thus far. Instead she stuck to news about her crafting blog, the recent pickup in sales of her handiwork, and Pacifica related her own concerns about her parents, insider gossip about some of the more affluent individuals and celebrities her family happened to be acquainted with, bridging the wide gap between the world she lived in and Mabel's. By the time Pacifica approached the manor (and this time they were met at the gate by a couple of hired staff who set about unloading Mabel's luggage before taking the car to be parked neatly alongside the rest of the vehicles the family owned), Mabel was more than ready to collapse into the ridiculously soft bed waiting for her in the guest room. It had been a long, trying day, and so would the next.

"Where are your parents?" She was used to being greeted coldly by Preston or Priscilla whenever she came to visit, intent on not-so-subtly letting her know that her presence was not particularly welcomed.

Pacifica threw her coat over a nearby rack, shrugging. "Europe? Maybe New Zealand. They didn't say. They've been spending a lot of time 'on vacation' recently." It went without saying that the heiress wasn't too torn up over being left to her own devices. "Oh, I forgot to mention this in the car, but you've got guests."

Mabel's brow furrowed. She really wasn't in the mood for company. "Um..." Then again, she could at least be polite and speak with them for a few minutes before retiring. Hopefully they'd understand. She followed Pacifica to one of the manor's ostentatious rooms, full of furniture and glassware that she was still afraid to look at too closely for fear of breaking something. Pacifica glanced over her shoulder at her with an unreadable expression, then pushed the door open.

Mabel burst into tears immediately, pushing past her and rushing into the open arms of her two other best friends. "Girls!"

Candy and Grenda (now Baroness von Fundhauser) greeted her just as warmly, holding her tight as the stress of the day finally boiled over.

* * *

 

Pacifica had arranged for Candy and Grenda to spend the next few days at the manor as well for emotional support, and after the tearful reunion Mabel excused herself, vowing to be more social once she'd gotten some sleep. Pacifica led to her to the guest room she'd be staying in, and although she'd spent a couple of weeks at the manor in the past it never failed to amaze her how large and spacious it was, almost the size of her apartment in its entirety. There was even a makeshift crafting area set up for her to use if she wanted to do so.

"Thank you, Paz. I needed that." Mabel plopped onto the bed in a cloud of brown curls. Pacifica seated herself a few feet away, smiling in the authentic manner seemingly reserved for Mabel and Mabel alone. "This past week has been..."

She trailed off, feeling the familiar weight forming within her chest once more.

"I know." Pacifica scooted closer, allowing Mabel lean against her. "And...I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Mabel sniffled. "I guess it never occurred to me that he wouldn't just live forever. Although he did slow down a lot after...you know."

She'd never reached a point where she was comfortable talking about Dipper's disappearance. Whenever the topic came up she either responded in a noncommittal manner or avoided discussion altogether. Eleven years had passed, and his absence still felt like a gaping hole she'd never be able to fill.

"I keep losing people," she continued, tears flowing freely once more. "It feels like I can't hold on to anyone for too long."

Pacifica shifted, wrapping her arms around her friend and holding her closely enough for Mabel to smell whatever shampoo she'd used recently. It reminded her of spring flowers. "You'll always have me," the heiress vowed. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't promise that."

Pacifica huffed. "I'm a Northwest, Braces. We're pretty stubborn."

Mabel chuckled lightly at the statement, then nuzzled against her again. "Promise?"

"What, do you want it in writing or something?" Pacifica showed no signs of trying to disengage herself nor departing, even after Mabel began to doze off, finally shoving aside a few pillows sleepily and crawling beneath the covers.

"I don't want to be alone," she heard herself murmur.

After a few seconds of silence, she felt the weight of another body settling down beside her; a hand sought out and laced its fingers with hers, and for the first time since receiving the news Mabel managed to sleep through the night peacefully.

* * *

 

Preparations for the funeral went as well as could be expected. 

Despite his reputation for being a conman, Stanford Pines had been a staple of the town for decades and well-liked overall. Gravity Falls hadn't changed much over the past eleven years; the same old faces, stores, and landmarks greeted Mabel wherever she went, and the amount of support she received was overwhelming. The larger details, such as the coffin, the headstone (a gaudy fixture of Mabel's own design that she knew Stan would have loved), and flower arrangements were already finalized, leaving Mabel with the tasks of writing the eulogy and organizing the small memorial service to be held later on at the manor. That in itself was no easy ride, creativity be damned; she'd never been faced with devising a formal goodbye, and the words wouldn't come no matter how hard she racked her brain.

Thankfully Pacifica, Candy, and Grenda were there to fill in the gaps when she faltered, as well as Soos (who'd remained at the Mystery Shack all the way until the end) and Wendy, whom Mabel wasn't entirely surprised to learn was now in the same line of work as her father. Her friends were more than happy to make calls, retrieve obituary prints, and other small things; they were also a great source of comfort for when it all became too much to handle and she inevitably broke down. Soos wasn't in much better shape, and she found herself commiserating with him fairly often.

The distance between Pacifica and herself had faded away with little ceremony; after the first night they continued to share the bed in the guest room, generally sleeping hand-in-hand. It was obvious that something had shifted, but figuring out where to go from there would have to wait.

As much as she dreaded its arrival, the day of the funeral eventually came, dawning almost inappropriately clear and sunny for the event about to take place. Mabel checked her appearance in the guest room mirror briefly with a heavy sigh; the night before she hadn't slept at all, passing the hours holding Pacifica's hand beneath the covers and mentally replaying all of the wonderful memories she had of visiting Stan, even after being relegated to doing so alone. It showed; her eyes were pink from exhaustion, and no amount of makeup could mask how tired she looked. It was inconsequential, anyway.

Pacifica drove the four of them to the graveyard in absolute silence, with Mabel reading and rereading the eulogy she'd managed to knock together in the end over and over again. She'd requested closed casket, unable to stand the idea of facing what her grand uncle had once been. His features were withered, and he looked so unlike the spry proprietor of the Shack that she was taken aback at first. At least he was at peace now, from whatever had eaten him alive over the past decade.

The turnout was larger than Mabel had expected; alongside his friends and extended family a fair amount of the townspeople showed up, with the addition of a few of the Mystery Shack's fans from past tours. It was touching, to say the least, and as Mabel approached the podium to begin the service she felt slightly more at ease than before, knowing she was not alone.

She took a deep breath, briefly meeting Pacifica's gaze, and began.

"We're here to say our final farewells to a man that managed to touch all of our lives during his time in this town and entertain countless others." The statement was met with light chuckles from the crowd, and Mabel smiled faintly at their reaction. "To every tourist that ever stepped foot in his house, he was Mr. Mystery. To most of you, he was Stanford Pines. To me..."

Her voice broke, compelling her to pause for a moment to collect herself. "He was my Grunkle Stan. And...I'll never stop missing him."

She bowed her head, closing her eyes as the tears building up behind her eyelids broke free and dampened the collar of the black sweater she'd chosen for the day. "Thanks for the memories, Grunkle Stan."

* * *

 

"That was a beautiful ceremony, Mabel." 

Mabel lifted her head from contemplating eating the pastry on the expensive china plate balanced in her lap. She wasn't hungry, but she hadn't eaten a thing all day as it was.

She could barely recall the rest of the funeral. Soos had spoken (for all of a minute before being unable to continue), as had a few others, and she'd laid a single glossy brochure for the Shack atop his coffin before it was lowered into the ground, whispering a goodbye beneath her breath as what remained of her grand uncle disappeared from sight forever. At some point she'd been ferried back to the manor, where she numbly accepted condolences, shook a number of hands, and returned countless hugs with as much enthusiasm she could muster. It wasn't much.

The woman addressing her sported a headful of ginger-colored hair, with round features and a warm smile. In her arms was a small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket that Mabel remembered knitting the year before. "Melody! Is that...?"

Melody retrieved the plate with her free hand and set it aside, lowering the baby into Mabel's arms. A pair of eyes that were an exact reproduction of Soos's stared up at her calmly, as if the baby was aware of the situation at hand and had decided to behave accordingly.

Melody brushed a lock of soft brown hair from her daughter's face. "Susanna, say hi to your godmother."

Mabel froze, meeting Melody's gaze. "Really?"

"If you're okay with it." Melody seated herself next to her, adjusting the small black hat adorning her hair. "To Soos, Stan was the father who was actually there for him. And I think Stan thought of him in the same light. We're family."

Mabel nodded, cradling Susanna closer to her chest. "I feel like I could've done a little more. I'm pretty sure he had some more illegal fireworks lying around the Shack somewhere."

"I think the custom headstone was enough," Melody said, kindly. "You're an amazing artist."

"Yeah." Mabel flushed slightly at the praise. "He would have loved that."

Susanna began to fidget restlessly, and she passed the baby back to Melody, whose expression shifted to one of more severity. "Speaking of the Shack..."

"I know. Mom and Dad told me already."

One of the final pieces of business to settle before heading back to California was figuring out what to do with Stan's house - which had been left to Mabel in its entirety. Stan had left a fairly large chunk of money and some personal belongings for Soos and his family, and she was sure there was some allotment for Wendy after working there for as long as she had, but the Mystery Shack itself now belonged to Mabel Pines to do as she wished with it. It was a heavy decision; she couldn't fathom living there alone. There were too many memories, and it would feel far too empty. But she also couldn't imagine selling it, either. Stan's house was a landmark of the town after so long; it was also in need of a massive touch-up to be market-ready and even if she had been comfortable with trying to sell it she wasn't sure she could do so in its current condition.

Melody's voice brought her back to the present. "Don't feel pressured to make a decision just yet. This won't be the last time you visit us, will it?"

Mabel reached over to run a finger over the surface of Susanna's tiny hand. The baby instinctively grabbed hold, cooing gently at her. "Of course not. We're family."

And, despite the pain that had yet to fully fade, Gravity Falls was  _home_  in a way Piedmont hadn't been for a long time.

* * *

 

The next day Mabel drove out to the Mystery Shack alone, using the least expensive vehicle among the couple Pacifica's family owned. The heiress had offered to actually drive her there (for all her grumbling Mabel suspected she relished the independence), or at least place her in the trusted hands of their personal chauffeur, but Mabel declined. She had a lot to think about, and she preferred to do so alone for the time being. 

As the town proper faded, giving way to the stands of evergreens and scenery she knew by heart at this point, her mind began to wonder. What shape was the Shack in, now? She hadn't seen it since the previous year; tours had ground to a halt two years prior to Stan's death and her most recent memories of visiting Gravity Falls for the summer involved simply spending time with him. As far as she knew Soos and Wendy had continued to keep tabs on him, but with the former partially occupied with the new addition to his family and the latter mostly caught up in her own affairs, she imagined that the place might have fallen into a state of disrepair.

The sight that awaited her as she pulled up in front of the Shack and twisted the key in the ignition was a relief; outwardly, the Mystery Shack was the same tourist trap she knew and loved. The 'S' on the sign was a lost cause, and the place was unnervingly quiet with neither tourists nor any of the former inhabitants of the Shack around, but aside from its typical shabbiness it was still standing. Mabel hesitated for a moment before exiting the car and heading inside.

The interior was as she remembered, as well; in fact, it was much neater than she remembered. It was as if Stan had sensed that his time was near and gone through the motions of organizing everything. She moved from room to room, forcibly ignoring the oppressive silence and taking stock of what was left. The kitchen, the guest room she'd stayed in once the attic became a haunted place for her, Stan's worn old chair, the merchandise in the gift shop that was now dusty, never having been removed even after business tapered off. As she did so, the ghosts of the past clouded her vision; herself, cuddling Waddles on the sofa, eating passable pancakes with a couple of grey hairs in them, bickering with Dipper... 

...Dipper.

"It'll never be the same without you," she said aloud, then proceeding to the room she'd been saving for last.

Stan's room wasn't as immaculate as the rest of the Shack, but it wasn't a hive, either. This was where her grand uncle had passed his final moments, letting go peacefully in his sleep. She steeled herself to approach the bed, suddenly intrigued by a large box with her name clearly printed on it in Stan's messy scrawl. It was taped shut, as if to indicate that the contents were meant for her eyes, and her eyes alone. Mabel fished around in her pocket for her keys, then used the edge of one to slice through the packing tape.

Inside the box were a number of papers covered in symbols and lettering that made little sense to her; there was a small shoebox also taped shut, and two items that she hadn't seen for ages: two of the journals emblazoned with a six-fingered hand, marked 1 & 2 respectively, identical to the one Dipper had discovered and consequently become obsessed with their first summer at the Shack.

Mabel's breath hitched in her throat. Why did Stan have these?

There was also a third journal; instead of a golden handprint, it bore the symbol from Stan's characteristic fez. It wasn't as thick as the other two, but it was certainly newer than the two original journals.

Before she could open the book, something washed over her, causing her to drop the book and stand up immediately.

" _Mabel._ "

The word was spoken softly, a barely audible whisper on the breeze, but something about it caught her attention. She looked around nervously, suppressing a shudder. "Hello?"

Leaving Stan's room, she retraced her steps, going over each room to see if she'd missed some interloper squatting in the Shack in its owner's absence; her search turned up no one. Utterly frustrated, she made her way out to the porch, dropping onto a chair. Maybe she just needed to clear her head a bit.

" _Mabel_."

This time she heard her name more clearly, and stood up, racing to the edge of the porch. "Hello? Is someone there?" Then, for good measure, "I have a grappling hook and I'm not afraid to use it!"

No response.

A sense of déjà vu took hold of her, making her lightheaded, and Mabel walked down the steps, standing on the lawn in a near trance. What was it about that voice? She knew it, from so long ago. Her feet began to carry her forward, away from the Shack and into the woods that she'd avoided for over a decade. She continued to move in a straight line, partially out of odd compulsion but mostly from memory. She'd tread these very steps before, although she couldn't remember exactly when. All around her wildlife went about its business; birds chirped from their perches within trees, chipmunks and squirrels slunk among the undergrowth, deer kept their distance. Mabel paid them no mind.

At last she stopped in a small clearing; the fog in her head dissipated, leaving her mildly confused. Why had she come here?

"Mabel."

The voice was unmistakable. Mabel gasped, taking a step backwards and nearly stumbling over her own two feet. A hand reached out and grabbed hers, steadying her before she could fall, and Mabel found herself face to face with her own reflection. "...Dipper?"

The man standing before her grinned, sheepishly. "Yeah, it's me. Sorry I took so long."

Mabel's heart clenched, and she temporarily disengaged herself, clutching hands against her chest. "You're alive?"

Dipper (and it was Dipper, she'd known from the moment she recognized his voice that this was her brother) sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Mostly."

Mabel kept her distance, scrutinizing his appearance. Dipper seemed to have aged as much as she had; he was around the same height, now, and his facial features were still a match for hers, soft brown eyes and hair that had lengthened considerably; a lock hung over his left eye. Even his attire was the similar, jeans and a blue hoodie that resembled his trademark vest with a large golden triangle printed on the front. "You're alive. You're here. A..are you real?"

"This one isn't a dream."

Mabel threw herself into his arms, unsure as to whether she should laugh or weep (her body decided on both). Dipper returned the embrace, and she heard him sniffle as well. "I knew," she said, fiercely. "I knew you weren't gone. I knew you'd come back. I've missed you so much. So, so much."

"I've missed you too," Dipper responded, in a voice that hadn't deepened much further than what she remembered from when they were fourteen. Mabel laid her head against his shoulder, refusing to let go.

"Extended awkward sibling hug?"

"Extended awkward sibling hug."

When they finally broke away from each other, Mabel gasped, wiping her face on the hem of her sweater. "We have to tell everyone! We've got to go call Mom and Dad, we..." She trailed off at the stricken expression on her long lost twin's face. "Dipper?"

Dipper lowered his head, staring at the bed of pine needles beneath his feet. "I'm sorry, Mabel. I couldn't fully keep my promise."

"What do you mean? You're here, aren't you? You're alive." Mabel frowned.

"I'm here," Dipper conceded. "But I can't go beyond that."

Mabel's vision blurred once more. This couldn't be happening. She'd just found him, after so long. "Why?"

The voice that forced its way past her brother's lips was also familiar; an ethereal echo laced with malicious intent. "I can never leave these woods again. I made a deal with the devil, just to see you again."

Dipper clutched his throat, glaring over his shoulder at something Mabel couldn't see. "I thought you promised you wouldn't interfere," he snapped, bitterly.

Before she could ask who he was talking to, a figure shimmered into existence with an overly dramatic flourish; despite never having seen the man before some part of her instinctively recognized him on sight. Blonde hair, warm brown complexion, a single golden eye shining with glee while an eyepatch covered the other. The newcomer sauntered over to her brother, lightly tapping him on the head with the crook of the cane he carried. "I never promised that I'd  _keep_  it, Pine Tree."

Mabel bristled, spitting out a name in a tone that suggested that she wanted nothing more than to cram that cane down his throat. "Bill."

The demon winked at her, cheekily. "Shooting Star, what's good? Long time no see."

It was then that everything clicked within her head, finally; the golden triangle on his hoodie, the black band ringing his neck that she hadn't paid attention to before, clasped at the center with a smaller triangle that gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Dipper looked away, sadly.

"It was you." Mabel rounded on Bill, clenching her fists and struggling to hold herself back. "It was  _you_ , all those years ago! You took Dipper away from us!"

Bill chuckled at her reaction. "Of course it was! I'm surprised it took you  _eleven years_  to figure that one out! Oh...I forgot about that  _other_  deal he made with me." He pinched Dipper's cheek in a mockery of affection. "There's been so many that I've lost count."

Dipper didn't pull away; instead he looked up at the demon with something close to reverence in his eyes. "Please let me explain."

The demon shrugged. "Anything for you, Pine Tree."

Mabel remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear herself away from the sight of her brother and the demon who'd stolen him from her life, even as Dipper began to speak in an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry, Mabel. I had him seal your memories. Remember when you fell off the roof and broke your wrist?"

The floodgates shattered, releasing the memories from that night long ago: Dipper speaking in Bill's voice, jerked about like a reluctant puppet straining against its strings, attacking her, crouching on the roof in the rain willingly handing over her life for his.

Her scream upon finding herself careening towards the ground below.

"You did that?" Mabel asked, softly. Her throat felt dry, and the sun was much, much too bright. She could tell a headache was approaching. "Why? Why did you let him..."

This time Dipper shook Bill off, breaking away so he could place a hand on his twin's shoulder. "Because I wanted you to be able to live a normal life without me. I didn't want you to waste it trying to bring me back."

"But maybe I could have saved you." Mabel's tears were flowing, once more. "I could have at least tried."

"That ship's sailed, Shooting Star." As if being jerked back on a leash, Dipper returned to the demon's side. "He's mine. Forever." Bill brushed away the lock of hair hanging over his face and revealing what was no longer an eye, but an empty socket from which golden light emitted. The wrinkled flesh around it was long healed, but the sight was so unnatural that Mabel's hands flew up to her mouth as nausea bubbled up in the back of her throat.

"What...what happened? Dipper?"

"I made some sacrifices to get here," Dipper admitted. "But it was all worth it. I'd do it all over again."

Mabel sunk to her knees, already grieving for her brother. Whatever hold Bill had over him, it was obvious that the demon wasn't willing to let him go anytime soon. And what was worse was that deference she'd witnessed earlier; Dipper seemed to have given up fighting against his influence. What had happened to him since he disappeared? Where had Bill been keeping him? What now?

"I can't leave the woods," he continued. "But you can visit me here."

"But...the Shack...and Grunkle Stan!"

"I know. I've been watching." Her brother smiled then; it was a bittersweet expression. "Whatever you decide to do, you can always come back. I'll be here, whenever you need me, even if I can't stay too long. But don't feel like you have to choose me over living your life. Even if this is the last time, I'm happy I got to see you again." A tear broke away from Dipper's good eye. "I love you. You're my favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister," Mabel sobbed, unable to hold back any longer.

The last voice she wanted to hear interrupted them. "Time's up for now, Pine Tree. Let's go."

Dipper lowered his head obediently, but Mabel forced herself to stand on her shaky legs, taking a step forward. "Wait! Please. Not yet."

Bill grinned, slinging an arm over her brother's shoulder. "Wanna make a deal?"

The word 'yes' was already on the tip of her tongue, but the demon's laughter forced it back. "Just kidding! I have everything I want  _right here_." He wrapped his arms around Dipper's torso possessively; as expected, her brother made no attempt to break free. The display hurt Mabel's heart.

"No...no...not again," she whispered, desperately. "I can't lose you again."

Her pleas had no effect on Bill, who held Dipper tighter, turning away from her as if she were no longer of any importance. "Until next time, Shooting Star."

And then they were gone, leaving Mabel standing in the clearing alone.

She collapsed into the shed pine needles, frame wracked by sobs that left her barely able to breathe. She cried for her grand uncle, worn away from guilt over something he had no control over. She cried for her brother, trapped beneath the thumb of a demonic tyrant with little chance for escape - if Dipper still wanted to break free of Bill. She couldn't tell.

And she cried for herself, unable to hold on to or save the people she loved the most.

* * *

 

Mabel stood before the Mystery Shack, leaning against the side of the car. Her knees were smeared with mud from the woods, and the hem of her sweater was damp. 

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, and she'd already received two text messages from Pacifica, one from Candy, and another from Grenda, all wondering whether she was okay and when she'd be back.

A plan had been churning in her head, ever since she'd managed to weakly stand up and leave the clearing. The Shack was in fairly good condition. It would be difficult, at first, adjusting to living there on her own, but if she could get the attractions up and running again it wouldn't be lonely for long. Maybe she could get another pig; she missed Waddles.

And there were always her old friends - no, family: Wendy and Soos and the rest of the townspeople who'd been so kind earlier. And Pacifica. There was Pacifica, and gap between them that no longer existed.

Perhaps she could balance the two: running the Shack _and_ crafting. The gift shop could be reorganized to include a small art gallery.

It hadn't been her life plan, becoming the proprietor of a tourist trap in the weirdest town in the state of Oregon. But that was life. Sometimes you had to veer off-course and embark upon a new journey. Dipper had given her free reign to go back to California; she knew wasn't  _required_  to stay. After all, who in their right mind would sacrifice everything they'd worked for for their dumb sibling?

" _Dipper would_."

Mabel loaded the box from Stan's bedroom into the car; she could go over its contents once she got back to the manor. Then she slid behind the wheel and started the car, pausing to stare out at the darkening woods before pulling off.

"See you soon, Dippin' Dot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thanks again for reading my fanfiction and being wonderful. I'll probably be doing a one-shot centered around Dipper's time in the Mindscape/explaining what happens with his eye, but it'll be awhile - I want to focus on some happier stuff first. Come find me on Tumblr at 'bipolar-berry-crunch'! I post a lot of drabbles and one-shots that I haven't gotten around to posting here yet. : )


End file.
